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“Where do you figure in a marriage ceremony ?” 



Comedy of 
Petty Conflicts 


By 

IDA BLANCHE WALL 

u 

AUTHOR OF 
"Sister in Name Only” 

"Romance and Tragedy of a Summer” 




BROADWAY PUBLISHING CO. 

835 BROADWAY, NEW YORK 


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Copyright, 1908, 

BY 

IDA BLANCHE WALL 


All rights reserved. 


DEDICATED TO 

Dr. Nat. T. Coulson 
OF ’ FRISCO 



FOREWORD. 


“Fools rush in where angels fear to tread.” 

Were it not thus, the fire-inflated editor would 
have no opportunity of blowing up the maga- 
zine and scorching the newspaper in order to 
purify the literary atmosphere; and there would 
be no display of his annihilating genius as a 
scribe and critic. Furthermore, writers would no 
longer strive to follow closely his lofty require- 
ments, sinking their originality and wit in his 
overweening “policy.” 

In the crude production which follows, no 
claim is laid either to originality or wit. The 
author has aimed simply to reproduce a South- 
land story of rapid movement, unvarnished dia- 
logue, and varied incident. Marshalled before 
the reader's imagination is a miscellaneous as- 
sortment of “every day life” comedians, who 
move about and play their parts in a familiar, 
blundering fashion, with little regard to the 
lethargic English drone of scholars. Often a 
dusky face smiles irresponsibly from our pages. 
Otherwise, this could not be a Southern story; 
when, after fifty years of freedom, churches, 
schools and politics the negro clouds our fair at- 
mosphere with his too frequent atrocities. 

If intimate and unpalatable truths are not 
sufficiently screened from the reader's sensitive- 


11 


Foreword 


ness, if the hard places in which he daily sits are 
found unpadded, or if the cobblestone path which 
he treads in life’s vaudeville march has a ten- 
dency to trip him, the writer begs to offer apolo- 
gies and appreciation for patient attention. 

I. B. W. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER I. page 

An Eligible Youth 1 

CHAPTER II. 

A Domestic Scene 6 

CHAPTER III. 

Pounding the Parson 15 

CHAPTER IV. 

Fortune's Smile 24 

CHAPTER V. 

A Lament 28 

CHAPTER VI. 

Telephone Flashes 33 

CHAPTER VII. 

A Turbulent Spinster 37 

CHAPTER VIII. 

Bonny Cecil 44 

CHAPTER IX. 

An Imitative Wooer. 50 

CHAPTER X. 

The Scoggins' 62 

CHAPTER XI. 

Jack Sanders 71 

CHAPTER XII. 

The Spinster is Reconciled 76 

CHAPTER XIII. 

The Frugatza 81 

CHAPTER XIV. 

A Profligate's Protection 91 


11 


Contents. 


CHAPTER XV. page 

Popularity of a Bachelor Parson 98 

CHAPTER XVI. 

A Checkmated Admirer 108 

CHAPTER XVII. 

The Lovely Cherub 116 

CHAPTER XVIII. 

The Stronger Soul 123 

CHAPTER XIX. 

Valley Beautiful 135 

CHAPTER XX. 

When Love is Satiated 143 

CHAPTER XXL 

Beyond the Clouds 147 

CHAPTER XXII. 

A Frenchman’s Wooing 155 

CHAPTER XXIII. 

Farewell to Eidelweiss 164 

CHAPTER XXIV. 

A Grave in Alpine Snow 171 

CHAPTER XXV. 

Petty Annoyances 177 

CHAPTER XXVI. 

Heart Bruises 188 

CHAPTER XXVII. 

Cecil’s Peep Through Cupid’s Gilded Bars 196 

CHAPTER XXVIII. 

A Diminutive Race Riot 204 

CHAPTER XXIX. 

In the Kingdom of Pots and Pans 211 

CHAPTER XXX. 

A Fiery Trial 221 

CHAPTER XXXI. 

Was Love Vanquished 226 

CHAPTER XXXII. 

The Crisis 231 


Comedy of Petty Conflicts 


CHAPTER I. 

AN ELIGIBLE YOUTH. 

“What elegance! What grace! What caress- 
ing, soul-awakening eyes!” cried Lillian Waters 
impulsively. 

Her cheery smile beamed upon the mirthful 
company as her eyes wandered about the capa- 
cious saloon. 

Mrs. Waters turned to her daughter and, as 
she moved, her diamonds flashed impressively. 
“Why Lillian, of whom do you speak, dearie?” 

“Cadet Rupert Wendell, of course, mamma. 
Oh, I shall die if I don’t get this last waltz with 
him. He has looked this way forty times, but 
that hateful Yayda Z. holds him. I’ll just signal 
him to drop her,” and in cheerful disregard of 
conventionalities, a tiny lace guidon fluttered out 
in frantic appeal. 

The indulgent mother smiled bravo. “Is his 
name on your card for this dance ?” . 

“No, but I’ll have part of it, nevertheless, or 
you may call me an antique.” 

“How proudly he bears himself, Lillian, as 


2 Comedy of Petty Conflicts 

though all creation were his plaything. I’ll war- 
rant him the very king of hearts; he is the type 
of man women adore. He has paused in the 
dance, but Yayda still clings. See, he is look- 
ing this way ; child, be quick, but discreet. ,, 

The eager girl made no answer, but with the 
assurance of Napoleon, glided lightly into the 
circle of dancers. Just at this crisis the music 
ceased and the crowd dispersed, but Lillian cap- 
tured her man. They strolled to a window re- 
cess, where she detained him for a quiet tete-a- 
tete. 

Lillian’s beauty was transcendent and she was 
conscious of looking her best as she sat embow- 
ered in the feathery palms, the atmosphere redo- 
lent with roses and subdued lights. Her senti- 
mental mood was irrepressible. “At last,” she 
sighed, lifting her dreamy eyes. “Oh, dear, Fve 
seen so little of you this evening. And as in a 
few days you return to West Point, this — is — our 
— parting.” Her caressing voice was full of re- 
proach. 

“I shall not forget our pleasant days,” Rupert 
began, but as she nestled nearer and pinned a 
flower in his buttonhole, words failed him. In- 
wardly he swore at his own cowardice, his incli- 
nation to shrink away. “With the emblem,” she 
had whispered during this crucial process. 

Laughing voices soon drew near. “Where is 
Mr. Wendell? Pm waiting to say good-bye — 
and I — and I,” chimed in several others as a 
coterie formed. Lillian made a despairing ges- 
ture which was enhanced by a pleading look. 
Rupert’s face flushed and, with graceful dignity, 


Comedy of Petty Conflicts 


3 


he arose. Immediately a bevy of courageous 
girls literally besieged him. Full of amenities, 
these bewitching creatures challenged him 
through a variety of laughing, wistful, lovelit 
eyes. 

Lillian struck an attitude on the defensive; 
she threw back her plump shoulders in full power 
of possession and, with a frozen stare, tried to 
hold the intruders at bay. She slipped her hand 
into Rupert’s arm and made a mild effort to lead 
him away, but all to no purpose. The cadet was 
irresistible to the girls; his ravishing curls in- 
duced longings for the thrilling sensation of the 
laying on of hands. To be his sweetheart or 
wife were bliss indeed and no feminine artifice 
was too dear to use with the hope of winning 
him. Perhaps their refreshing boldness was 
valid in fashionable circles, but often he felt his 
cheeks go red. 

Rupert stood in abeyance among his worship- 
ers, there was a pucker of embarrassment on his 
handsome brow, for a storm of jealousy was 
brewing among the contestants for his favor. 
To add to his affliction, reproachful glances 
warned him not to commit the treasonable act of 
partiality. He was wisely silent. The evening 
was sultry ; having been danced and exercised in 
moonlight strolls by first one and then another 
of these analogous creatures, he was footsore 
and he longed for the luxury of smoking gown 
and slippers. 

Still he faced the batteries. This, his first 
season, had been a novel delight and he bore 
his social honors with apparent indifference. 


4 Comedy of Petty Conflicts 

Now that the hour for parting had come, Rupert, 
the beau-ideal, stood within the circle of eager 
hearts absolute monarch of his own affections. 
Often had the freedom of his actions expressed 
this personal force. With his fine sense of pro- 
priety he would exercise man’s rights inviolate, 
and he preferred the obsolescent custom of man 
doing his own love making. 

At two o’clock, when Rupert turned his sleepy 
eyes toward the beacon light of home, his 
thoughts, not altogether void of sentiment, re- 
verted to the active rivals who had played him 
throughout the summer’s idle days. ‘‘Thorough- 
breds, all of them,” he murmured conclusively. 
Though still youthful and quite too slow for his 
surroundings, his was a fun-loving nature. Gaily 
he entered his home and glided noiselessly up the 
dimly lighted stairway. On reaching the upper 
landing he halted suddenly, for lo ! a spectral 
form appeared before him. Had dry Martini 
confused him or had Lillian’s dauntless spirit 
confronted him? 

There it stood, a slender woman gowned in 
white. The breath of fragrant roses gave a 
flavor of romance to the situation and sent forth 
the thrilling message, “Love — love continued 
even into the small hours.” The phantom form 
stretched out its arms and became a miracle of 
yielding affection; it swayed forward and con- 
signed itself to the shelter of unaccustomed 
arms. 

Rupert’s pulses broke into tumultuous motion, 
for with all recent advantages he was still not an 


Comedy of Petty Conflicts 5 

expert in femininity. But what man could resist 
a clinging creature like this at such a time, and 
not be touched by confidence so manifest? 

The human in Rupert was dominant. “Mar- 
cella, sweetheart,” he whispered tentatively, 
whereat the vision gave a little start — a gasp. 

His embrace relaxed somewhat, for something 
told him the apparition was not Marcella, the 
guest of his household. Instantly there was a 
cestus around him; arms bare and dainty en- 
circled his neck, a warm face nestled close to his 
burning cheeks and soft lips startled his dawning 
moustache. 

“It is I, Pauline,” was whispered into his as- 
tonished ears. “My fate is in these strong arms, 
oh, Rupert !” 

This information unfolded the record of a 
past event, bitter and repulsive, something very 
like a smothered oath escaped the embarrassed 
youth. Pirouetting gracefully, he disengaged 
himself from the tendrils of the clinging vine. 
“Forbear, forbear, Pauline,” he exclaimed with 
fine sarcasm as he put her resolutely aside. 

An icy dagger seemed to pierce the disap- 
pointed girl’s heart. In humiliation she sank 
upon the step, giving vent to sobs of mortifica- 
tion. The encounter was over so quickly that 
the next moment Rupert found himself hurrying 
along the corridor at an accelerated speed, as 
though eager to avert further meetings. 


6 


Comedy of Petty Conflicts 


CHAPTER II. 

A DOMESTIC SCENE. 

With the refrain of Pauline’s sobs in his ears, 
and feeling himself the leading character in a 
comedy of calf-love, Rupert steered for the safe- 
ty of his sleeping apartment. At that age he was 
prone to deal with the realistic side of life. Near 
the threshold he paused and gazed in profound 
astonishment at the transom — a light therein 
warned him that his bed-room was tenanted. 

“Another woman in ambuscade?” he ques- 
tioned half fearfully. “O, ye heathen gods! 
What shall I do? The very atmosphere seems 
charged with feminine risks and blandishments 
to-night.” With a humorous smile he then ad- 
vanced, and beating reveille call upon the door, 
opened it cautiously. 

“Come,” said a persuasive voice. 

Near a table stood his stepmother, Mrs. Wen- 
dell II. Like a ministering angel she hovered 
over a tray of appetizing supper. Rupert felt 
inclined to swear, but instead he only smiled. 
“This is too tough for a practical joke,” he told 
himself, “and is predicative of no good for me. 
Good-morning, Mother Fox. Up so early for 
your prey?” he called merrily. 

Somehow Mrs. Wendell did not like her 


Comedy of Petty Conflicts 7 

former name from Rupert's lips; there was in 
it a tone of deep meaning which he took savage 
delight in expressing. The two stared at each 
other in uncomfortable silence. ‘"Why, my dear 
boy, I sat up for you,” answered the woman of 
sharp wits, “thinking you might be hungry I 
have brought sillabub and jam. Come, let's have 
a little symposium. Here is some fine wine.” 

“Oh, thanks,” said Rupert, stiffly, “but it would 
destroy my appetite for breakfast.” 

Then, with sudden hauteur of manner, he held 
the door open for her exit. But this inhospitable 
act did not have the desired effect. She turned 
her eyes searchingly upon him while she affected 
an injured air. Rupert had always been amen- 
able; what could this mean? She fanned herself 
vigorously; it was her habit whenever her mind 
was active. 

“Well, dear, if you will not eat,” she said, 
“close the door; I want to hav* a confidential 
talk with you.” Mrs. Wendell's gesture was one 
of command, but her smile one of entreaty as 
she pointed to a chair. “Sit down,” she went 
on coaxingly, meanwhile settling herself com- 
placently. 

Rupert's face took on a baleful expression. He 
closed the door, but declined to be seated, having 
under stepmother domination served his term at 
that punishment long ago. Folding his arms he 
stood in alienated majesty. 

“You are leaving us so soon, Rupert, dear,” 
said Mrs. Wendell without further preliminaries. 
“Oh, how Pauline and I will miss you” — a suc- 
cession of prolonged sighs voiced the assurance 


8 Comedy of Petty Conflicts 

that her mission was one of policy. “It is of 
Pauline I would speak ; we must understand each 
other ” 

“I think I made myself very clearly under- 
stood in our recent interview," he interrupted 
impatiently. 

“Oh, dear, what nonsense! You and Pauline 
are mere children and it is my duty to try and 
insure your future welfare and happiness. Aside 
from that, my interest in you personally has in- 
creased, Rupert, despite your indifference to me. 
Your father's death was our mutual sorrow, and 
it should bring us nearer together." 

Involuntarily the youth receded a step as his 
mental vision pictured the unhappy past. Ru- 
pert's early childhood was all delight, still his 
was no lax discipline. In an atmosphere of gen- 
tle guidance his many noble attributes developed 
beautifully, but the rougher side of life pre- 
sented itself when, at the age of ten, the tomb 
closed its portals upon the remains of his mother. 
Almost before his childish grief had calmed 
into a sorrowful memory, his father married 
again and the home life became intolerable for 
the boy. Thereafter he could only dream dreams 
for the future and cherish ambitions. 

Mrs. Wendell II sniffed significantly in re- 
calling sad memories and the little fan again ro- 
tated vigorously. “You were once a very bad 
boy, Rupert," she declared ; “wayward, head- 
strong, disobedient, reckless and haughty. Tear- 
fully have I grieved over your misspent boy- 
hood, and now that my patient training has de- 
veloped you into a worthy young man, you 


Comedy of Petty Conflicts 9 

should regard my wishes and settle down in 
life.” 

‘Til settle,” he interposed with a conciliatory 
gesture, for she was probing deeper and deeper 
into what he wished to avoid. 

“Will you, really?” she asked, watching him 
keenly. Both were possessed of abnormal 
strength of purpose concerning this momentous 
question. “Well, my dear boy, unselfishness and 
also my profound respect for the dead prompts 
me to remind you that your father's request 
should be obeyed. In fact I see no reason why 
the matter should have been so long deferred.” 

“Matter deferred,” he repeated dazedly. 
“Madame, your speech mystifies me.” 

“Well, to be explicit: the eyes of the world are 
upon you, Rupert. You are charged with in- 
numerable love affairs, even though you are 
known to be the affianced husband of my daugh- 
ter Pauline.” 

Mrs. Wendell in this announcement had over- 
stepped the limit of endurance. Rupert's broad 
chest expanded and his voice rang out in a tor- 
rent of scorn-- “Your daughter Pauline's hus- 
band ! What a nightmare !” 

“Yes, sir, beyond doubt you have irrevocably 
pledged yourself to wed my daughter when you 
are twenty-one.” The speaker's pale eyes blinked 
rapidly. This symptom warned the youth that 
in his dilemma silence was the better part of 
self-vindication and self-preservation as well. 

The mother's temper was smouldering, so she 
resorted to mild vituperation and servile flat- 
tery. But concerning this very illogical ques- 


io Comedy of Petty Conflicts 

tion she clung to the ragged skirts of a forlorn 
hope. “Rupee, you disappoint my dearest earthly 
hopes,” she wailed. “True, you have been idol- 
ized by women quite enough to mislead any 
youth, but you should be strong and discourage 
these shameless creatures who throw themselves 
at you.” 

“I have just discouraged the most shameless 
of them all,” he interposed vigorously. 

“Good! Tell me who it was.” Then she fell 
to guessing. “Was it Gertrude Flick? Amy 
Race? Dr. Thorne’s fast daughter? Nell Hugo? 
Mademoiselle Marcella? Miss Hornick? The 
grass widow? The actress? The trained nurse 
Catchem? or,” and she paused for him to speak. 

“Haven’t you omitted some few from the cata- 
logue ?” 

Eager for a bit of scandal, Mother Fox had 
risen and drew near her prey, but in quick sur- 
prise she caught her breath and stared hard. 
“Why, Rupert Wendell! What do I see hang- 
ing from your button? Bless my soul if it isn’t 
Pauline’s gold chain and heart. She wore them 
an hour ago when she kissed me good-night.” 

Were all the furies conspired against him? 
Sure enough, there was a fragment of thread- 
like chain clinging to him with all the affection 
of its owner. Beneath his accuser’s searching 
gaze the innocent youth almost suffocated. 

“Explain yourself, sir !” she commanded, 
feigning to be shocked beyond measure. 

At this display of mock virtuous indignation 
Rupert braced himself and maintained the cour- 
age of his inclinations. “There seems to be an 


Comedy of Petty Conflicts 


ii 


active game of hearts going on continually, 
madame,” he said icily, “and I presume my but- 
ton caught this trinket on the rebound. The 
moral atmosphere is becoming rather oppres- 
sive. ^ 

Mrs. Wendell II allowed her face to relax 
into a vulpine smile, possibly the cause was not 
lost after all. “Naughty boy/’ she cried, tapping 
his shoulder caressingly with the expressive little 
fan, “wait until Pauline is yours before you — 


“I’ll wait,” he interrupted vehemently. 

As she nosed around he wondered would she 
scent any more secrets, or find further evidence 
against him? At that moment a miscellaneous 
assortment of weblike handkerchiefs muffled the 
throb of his invincible heart and his pockets 
bulged with feminine favors — ribbon, gloves, 
beads, bangles, cards and bits of sentimental 
verse, many of which had been thrust upon him. 
He registered a mental vow that before the next 
day waned the coal scuttle should claim them all. 

“Two thirty o’clock!” Rupert closed his watch 
with an insinuating snap, but the persistent 
woman was evidently there to stay. 

“Pert,” she pleaded, “recall the conditions of 
the will; your solemn promise and what its ful- 
fillment means to us all. Pauline remains true 
to her part in the marriage contract. Why wait 
two years?” 

“Marriage contract!” cried Rupert, now thor- 
oughly aroused. “Surely you would not take a 
mean advantage ” 

“It was your father’s dying request.” 


12 


Comedy of Petty Conflicts 


“Forbear! and never again refer to that sub- 
ject, he commanded sternly. “I want to forget 
such a sordid scene, for your attempts at graft 
on that sad occasion were execrable, and you are 
at heart a murderess!” 

Then becoming calmer he wondered why his 
hand had found its way to his hip pocket and if 
during the whole of his life he would be made to 
wriggle and squirm beneath the ban of woman. 
He felt for the first time a kindling respect for 
wife beaters. And while confronting his tor- 
mentor he seemed no longer the debonair boy, 
but a strong man defending honor. Sorely tried 
in the clash of duties at last he spoke his latent 
conviction with sincerity. 

For a moment the woman became almost trans- 
muted; she forgot the role she played and liter- 
ally charged upon her stepson. Her eyes snapped 
and flickered like flames of burning sulphur as 
the tide of her passion rose beyond its confines. 

“Quite like old times,” Rupert thought ; as she 
advanced upon him step by step he retreated, un- 
til he found himself in an alcove of the room, 
conquered and cowed, but not subjugated. At 
length there came an armistice. Then the wind 
shifted and once more soft breezes whispered of 
love and Pauline. 

“Pert,” she said mournfully, “you didn't hear 
all.” 

“I heard enough,” he panted, mopping his face, 
for he was sweltering in the heat of close quar- 
ters, and it was an unpleasant reminder of his 
imprisonment in dark closets long ago. 

“Believe me, it is not your money that I want, 


Comedy of Petty Conflicts 13 

Rupert; I plead for my child’s happiness. Pau- 
line loves you and you have trifled with her af- 
fections. You were caught red-handed to-night 
— the broken chain condemns you. Oh, Pert, 
you are too manly to condemn to death a girl’s 
love and faith. Bereft of your presence Pau- 
line’s life is a barren waste. Her love is a 
fathomless mine; its wealth all yours. She 
would cling to you.” 

A rancorous grunt was heard. “I am not in 
the mining business,” he replied most ungra- 
ciously, and his face darkened as he recalled the 
tenacity of Pauline’s embraces. 

“You promised your father upon your word 
of honor, now did you not, Rupert?” 

Strong truth burst the bounds of restraint. A 
new light flashed into his superb eyes and color 
into his cheeks. “Madame,” he said calmly, “I 
recall the lamentable fact that upon hard pres- 
sure I did make some off-hand promise to marry 
Pauline, which I have never since given a serious 
thought.” 

“What!” cried Mrs. Wendell II, in righteous 
indignation. “You have been taking a lover’s lib- 
erties with my daughter and now you would 
break faith with her?” 

A moment of tense silence passed and then in 
a conclusive manner Rupert rendered a whole- 
some verdict. “Marry Pauline!” he said in a 
cold withering tone, “for the second and last 
time I assure you that I will not — no, never, 
never ” 

“Villain !” shrieked the mother. “I’ll have you 
arrested! Pll detain you here and sue you for 


14 Comedy of Petty Conflicts 

breach of promise! I’ll have justice or blood- 
shed r 

After this ominous declaration she swept 
haughtily from the room. 

Awaiting a still more calamitous scene, Ru- 
pert, with quickening pulses stared, open-eyed at 
the doorway a moment, but as nobody appeared 
he wearily prepared for rest. There was no lack 
of courage; but, under the circumstances, there 
was a suggestion of powerlessness on his part 
and a yearning desire to atone for whatever 
wrong he had done. Only money could do this, 
he knew, and with his hopes and future ambi- 
tions, such sacrifice could not be made alto- 
gether in a spirit of benevolence. But he dis- 
missed his thought as selfish and decided to make 
the sacrifice cheerfully. 


Comedy of Petty Conflicts 


IS 


CHAPTER III. 

POUNDING THE PARSON. 

Sweet sleep beguiled unhappy Rupert’s mel- 
ancholy and cleared his weary brain. Rich, still, 
in the dreams of youth, he fancied that his fu- 
ture intercourse with inscrutable woman should 
be so tempered with wisdom and discretion that 
trouble would never again cast anchor in the 
harbor of his hopes. Never again would he be 
the ready victim of female wiles. 

With considerable exhilaration of spirit Rupert 
began to prepare for his departure and would 
have effected his retreat from N with sol- 

dierly success if, at noon, he had not been sum- 
moned downstairs. 

Rupert hurried down and entered the back 
parlor. To his amazement he heard the key 
turn in the lock behind him. What did it mean ? 
Was he a prisoner? The window blinds were 
closed, curtains drawn and daylight severely ex- 
cluded. Under the brilliant light of the chande- 
lier his stepmother confabulated with two of her 
compatriots — Watts and McDow. A portly 
man, whom he recognized as Deacon Hawkins, 
one of her relatives, sauntered around the room 
in a preoccupied manner. 

Apparently unobserved, Rupert stood motion- 


1 6 Comedy of Petty Conflicts 

less for a moment. The presence of these people 
recalled a summer vacation spent in the country 
long ago when Hawkins seemed to be the only 
vile object contaminating its celestial atmosphere. 
Pleasant was the memory of those days in sum- 
mer’s golden glow among verdant hills and val- 
leys, orchards rich in color and humming with 
life, where, in the big heart of mother nature, 
temptation and restraint weigh not upon the 
soul and where all. the precious privileges, dear 
to a boy’s heart, are enjoyed to the fullest. Once 
again he saw the clear river where people were 
baptized, the quaint log church in a woodland 
dell, and the ranting old minister whose finger 
was always pointing below. He lined the hymns 
and Hawkins led in the singing. 

“Good-morning,” called a deep voice, inter- 
rupting Rupert’s reverie. 

“Good-morning,” he responded, slowly ap- 
proaching the group. “Why am I summoned 
here?” Too well he grasped the meaning of that 
grotesque gathering. “Fate has plotted against 
me again,” he groaned inwardly, “and there will 
be no Lethean cure for this horrid ultimatum.” 

Then Hawkins drew near and, looking Rupert 
over with ill-concealed dislike, issued the fiat: 
“You, Wendell, are the chief figure of an en- 
forced marriage, and these young men present 
will, if you make the slightest resistance, execute 
justice.” 

“Ah?” questioned Rupert with scornful defi- 
ance, all the fire of his proud nature kindling. 
Self-command almost forsook him and he sniffed 
the air like a war horse. Barred in, and sur- 


Comedy of Petty Conflicts 17 

rounded by enemies, what could he do? The 
close air seemed full of expectant gunpowder. 

Pauline’s face was apprehensive; she seemed 
to have no volition in the matter. Her lips were 
quivering and tears flooded her eyes. She was, 
after all, only a tool in the hands of her mother. 
In the hottest fever of his life, Rupert’s brain 
was active. Possibly the girl’s better nature 
might assert itself and his conduct be vindicated 
after all. He knew Hawkins to be a man of 
many words and to be extremely illiterate. Per- 
haps by parrying the question as long as possible 
he might impede any action in this mill of tor- 
ture. It was the only hope. 

With a dogmatic air Hawkins took his posi- 
tion near a flower-laden stand, opened a prayer- 
book and began to fumble with its pages. “Can- 
didates for matrimony will come forward,” he 
said with ridiculous solemnity. 

“Where do you figure in a marriage cere- 
mony?” asked Rupert, a tremor in his voice. 

“I am a preacher — a very necessary party.” 

“Ape readier,” repeated Rupert, imitating both 
tone and emphasis. “Well, sir, you are reaching 
up to a position you are not qualified or destined 
to fill.” 

“A parson then, you stupid boy.” 

“Ah, indeed, since when, pray?” 

“Since I took to the pulpit,” replied Hawkins 
sharply, and, being thrown off his guard, he 
lapsed into solecism. 

“Took to the pulpit,” laughed Rupert, “is no 
doubt a good description of your theological 


1 8 Comedy of Petty Conflicts 

career. But why not say since you took to the 
water ?” 

"Yes, water too, for I am a straightout hard 
shell Baptis’, the pure in heart.” 

"By what authority do you hold in your hand 
an Episcopal prayer-book, sir 

"Mrs. Wendell requested me to read the mar- 
riage ceremony from out of it, but for my part 
I’d much ruther use my own church form; it’s 
more to the p’int. I don’t b’lieve in preachin’ 
and prayin’ out of a book; thar ain’t no heart 
in it.” 

Hawkins scrutinized the book as though on 
slight encouragement he would give it a se- 
verely adverse criticism. In that strenuous mo- 
ment Rupert’s perceptive faculty took in the 
comic situation. 

"Where are your clerical robes ?” he ques- 
tioned with plaintive irony. 

"I don’t wear them kind,” sneered Hawkins, 
"and when some o’ the church sisters, who had 
got a rise in worldly affairs, tried to introduce 
them into our pulpit and choir, I kicked and 
bucked like a bronco. No ’Piscopal blood in 
me — no mixture of saint and sinner. One night 
thar was to be a pound party at my house — 'a 
poundin’ o’ the parson,’ they call it. People gath- 
ered from every which a way. Somebody asked 
if a violin could be brought in. Wes, certainly,’ 
I said, not knowing the instrument by that name. 
To my etarnal horror the man brought in a fiddle 
— the devil’s own instrument, and but for my 
plain talk there would have been rough house. 
Now, if that had been a ’Piscopal parson he’d 


Comedy of Petty Conflicts 19 

allowed dancing, fiddling and cards, too. See 
the p’int? 

“Your stepmother thar usen to be a devout 
Baptist but after her second marriage she got a 
rise in the fashionable world and jined the 
worldly-minded church; still, at heart ” 

“She is Baptist to the core,” interrupted Ru- 
pert fervently. “But you are discursive, sir. 
Since you condemn the Episcopal faith why 
plagiarize its service?” 

“I, myself, don't do no such thing,” contra- 
dicted Hawkins, warming up in his defence. “I 
don’t b’lieve in it.” 

“You must believe what you read from that 
book, sir, or else your ceremony would not be 
binding.” 

“I don’t b’lieve it, I tell you, and I never 
adopted no sech a bobbing up and down form o’ 
wash up neither. The women folks they git high 
falutin’ once in a while and try to imitate the 
’Piscopalians.” 

“They deserve credit,” remarked Rupert can- 
didly, “for trying to educate themselves up to a 
higher standard of church doctrine. Then, shall 
the Bible prophecy be fulfilled. There shall be 
one shepherd and one fold. Instead of being 
satisfied with simply 'taking to the pulpit,’ as 
you say, you, too, should be willing to climb to 
the dignity of clerical eminence, and until you 
are qualified for that priestly office you will kind- 
ly not subject our service to bathos.” 

Rupert relieved the astonished parson of the 
book, and with reverence placed it on a table. 
Mrs. Wendell II stared fiercely at him and the 


20 


Comedy of Petty Conflicts 


little fan accelerated its motion. In her younger 
days she had, despite Hawkins’ bucking tenden- 
cies, introduced into the “Hardshell” faith a 
strange commingling of creeds. The deposed par- 
son struck an unfriendly attitude and shook a 
menacing fist in Rupert’s face; then, turning to 
Watts and McDow, said, “Now, boys, do your 
part.” 

It was no carnival occasion. Rupert was 
strung up to a high pitch and yearned for de- 
cisive action. 

“If you will take me one at a time,” he said, 
quietly, “we will proceed without further ado.” 

“No need of violence, Mr. Wendell,” advised 
Watts, stepping forward, closely followed by 
McDow. “My aunt tells me that after being en- 
gaged to her daughter for many years and, after 
taking all manner of liberties with her, you now 
seek to be released from all obligations to her. 
So just lead my cousin Pauline up to Mr. Haw- 
kins and let him tie the knot. Stand up like a 
man, or take the result.” He fixed his steel 
gray eyes searchingly upon Rupert and laid a 
heavy hand upon his shoulder. 

“Take your hand from my shoulder!” Fire 
was in Rupert’s eyes and murder in his voice. 
Watts and McDow exchanged glances; each un- 
derstood that Wendell would not be coerced. 
Nor would he die like a coward. They fell back 
a pace and he stood alone. Folding his arms and 
with elevated chin Rupert stared defiantly at his 
stepmother; his lofty air held the others spell- 
bound. “I will not marry Pauline,” he said 
vehemently. “I’ll take the consequences.” 


Comedy of Petty Conflicts 


21 


Deathlike silence followed for a full minute; 
even the little fan ceased to flutter. 

Pauline seemed stupefied and disheartened. 
Her mother discerned this and stood for the girl's 
strength. There was an evil light in her eyes as 
she gave Hawkins a significant glance. Rupert 
knew then that her resemblance to Guido's de- 
mon was not imaginary on his part. 

Hawkins then reasserted his authority. “I am 
waiting to proceed with the ceremony," he cried 
petulantly, but no one took heed of his announce- 
ment. At an outright sob from Pauline Rupert 
turned to her in commiseration. In thrilling 
tones he appealed to her womanhood. The 
strength and chastity of his words seemed di- 
vine inspiration for the girl. She trembled and 
weakened under the spell of his compelling gaze. 

Watts and McDow, who had watched keenly 
the entire proceeding, turned their eyes upon 
Mrs. Wendell in painful disgust. Her equivocal 
statement had entirely misled them. Feeling 
compunction these sagacious young men began 
to move restlessly about the room. 

Pauline turned penitently to Rupert. “For- 
give me," she said, folding her hands as though 
in devotion. “You have never wronged me, Ru- 
pert — I love you — love — you — always." She 
grew deathly pale and swayed like a willow 
branch. 

McDow caught her in his arms and bore her 
from the room. Mrs. Wendell II scowled vin- 
dictively. Hawkins turned his batteries of wrath 
full upon Rupert. “See the suffering your ras- 
cality has caused these innocent, helpless worn- 


22 


Comedy of Petty Conflicts 


en!” he yelled in his pulpit key. “Young man, 
may everlasting damnation and etarnal " 

With the spring of a practiced athlete Rupert 
was in full possession of the man's throat and 
the benediction of white heat was cut short. The 
room jarred as though an earth- wave had struck 
it, for brute force against athletic skill seemed 
for a moment to equalize the combat. But Haw- 
kins had more determination than wind, and 
spent his strength hitting out wildly, while his 
agile opponent parried the blows. With failing 
strength he sank gradually and, all unconsciously, 
struck the attitude of “The Dying Gladiator." 

In this denouement Watts, of bloody instinct, 
watched calmly “the pounding of the parson." 
Mrs. Wendell II did not shriek — public opinion 
was more to her than life. She took refuge be- 
hind a cabinet while the last vestige of her chi- 
merical scheme vanished and then she proceeded 
to revivify the prostrate man. 

What a picture of serenity Rupert presented 
when the contest was over! Except for a slight 
pallor and artistically dishevelled curls, his out- 
ward appearance was unruffled. Deeply con- 
trite that, in the heat of passion he had struck 
an older man, he stood looking down upon his 
enemies. In the majesty of guileless youth he 
was like a symbol seen in a sculpture gallery in 
Rome of a human soul with its choice of purity 
or evil — a child clasping a dove to its bosom, 
while assaulted by a serpent. 

In a strange unnatural spell Rupert watched 
his stepmother. He felt a certain charm in gaz- 
ing for the last time upon her hardened face. 


Comedy of Petty Conflicts 23 

Then, with a turbulent overflow of emotion, a 
groan escaped his lips. He turned and strode 
away, feeling himself an exile and a dishonored 
guest in his own household. 


24 


Comedy of Petty Conflicts 


CHAPTER IV. 
fortune's smile. 

One month later Mrs. Wendell II was agree- 
ably surprised to find her bank account abundant- 
ly augmented. This magnanimous act on Ru- 
pert's part proved him capable of unselfishness in 
a high degree. It awakened more fully his in- 
born energy and gave a deeper meaning to life. 
Being self-relia' t, the strong-hearted youth did 
not mourn the absence of money. Freed from 
the machinations of his stepmother, he congratu- 
lated himself on having fared so well. 

Fully resolved to embody every faculty in 
making himself a successful lawyer he was soon 
admitted to the bar. Fie established himself in 
the South — of the soft skies, that land which is 
marred by the black and sluggish tide which 
sweeps a polluting current impending advance- 
ment and blighting its beauty. 

But Fate was kind after all, for whenever Ru- 
pert entered the courtroom inspiration awaited 
him there. With elan he poured forth an un- 
trammeled wealth of speech, fascinating all 
within hearing. Beside, he possessed the rare 
charm of wooing others to accept his expressed 
ideas as their own sentiment. In his first case 
he evinced his ability to defend a client even in 


Comedy of Petty Conflicts 


2 5 


the very face of the law. After this event scores 
of clients sought him and soon numbers of im- 
portant cases were pending. The rush became 
so great that very soon a partner was a necessity, 
j A soul-stirring speech in a difficult criminal 
case soon startled the public. It was indeed a 
memorable occasion, when with an armor of 
courage and genius, like a conqueror, he sev- 
ered the enslaving chains of his client and bore 
him safely out of danger’s confines. He had 
won against the recognized talent of his ambi- 
tious and renowned opponent. 

Caught in the tide of prosperity, Rupert Wen- 
dell was hurried onward, and meanwhile his 
financial affairs were most prosperous. He ven- 
tured into speculation and invariably won. Full 
of resources, he soon found himself possessed 
of an ideal farm, well appointed and situated just 
beyond the city limits. This was a lucrative en- 
terprise in itself if properly managed. 

One day, in answer to an advertisement, “Ex- 
perienced farmer wanted,” Job Croaker, an old 
negro from slavery times, presented himself with 
the required recommendation. As Job walked 
searchingly around the office, his simious face 
rose like a soot ball from a four-inch depth of 
snowy celluloid. He held in his hand a battered 
high hat which the original Job might have dis- 
ported. Flopping tails of a sleek frock coat 
fanned his heels and his pompous manner em- 
phasized the vainglory he felt in exhibiting his 
smart attire. 

It was impossible to secure white labor, so Job 
Croaker was put in charge. With lavish supplies 


26 Comedy of Petty Conflicts 

and cash each week he soon became autocrat of 
the farm and fairly revelled in his good fortune. 
Absolutely unlearned in the ups and downs of 
farm struggle, Wendell's was no prosaic idea in 
that particular line. His poetic fancy could see 
in the near future fields of waving green and 
gold, well-kept cattle grazing on the hillside — 
in short, a fount of pastoral wealth and beauty. 

Popularity followed in the train of success, 
and once more Rupert was fast becoming the 
very magnet among the devotees of pleasure. 
Unconsciously, however, for at the particular 
epoch, pride in his professional career was para- 
mount to all else, and if he possessed the sport- 
ing tendencies of youth they were still dormant. 
With Wendell's entree into society, libation was 
offered and among the gentler sex there was a 
lifting up of hearts to his handsome form and 
grace. 

At first there was something too breezy and 
invigorating about the moral atmosphere for 
one of his quiet habits, but with easy manner 
he presently acquiesced, jested and made merry. 
Besides, he had never before been so agreeably 
entertained, so completely taken out of himself. 
Insensibly he began to rely less upon the com- 
fort and satisfaction that one finds in the dis- 
charge of duty. As his character strengthened 
and matured, the beautiful world of reality, its 
splendor, its thrill of life and alluring vices in- 
terested him. Being lifted high in social favor, 
bombardment both daring and subtle were made 
upon his affections. But quietly self-possessed 
he withstood a siege of that kind. His was a 


Comedy of Petty Conflicts 27 

generous nature, but the high-minded youth soon 
saw with a pang of disappointment that even 
among people of unmistakable gentility propriety 
was acceded rights and privileges not her due. 

In his supremacy Rupert felt fully equipped to 
strengthen his defences against feminine wiles 
and ventured freely into the atmosphere of 
temptation. With the broadening of his views 
things heretofore condemned seemed not so bad 
after all. “One must keep with the band wagon,’’ 
he soon informed his questioning conscience, “if 
one would dance to its music/’ 

Flattered beyond the power of man’s resist- 
ance, his creative mind foresaw himself the bril- 
liant success of the age. But in the strenuous 
life of pleasurable excitement a gradual check 
was put upon meritorious exertion in his pro- 
fessional career, and soon energy was being 
spent in another direction. Finally he ceased to 
be a man of action and then time passed merrily 
enough. 

The gaudy type of woman, with her eyes al- 
ways upon him, her familiar ways and absence 
of dignity did not really appeal to Rupert’s finer 
instincts ; she influenced but failed to charm. But 
all unknown to himself there had already sprung- 
up in the garden of his great heart a modest 
flower thought of a school girl. When in sweet 
solitude he had whispered : “She is not like other 
girls; she is modest, she is womanly, she is ten- 
der. Her love will be as pure as vestal fire. 
Lucky the fellow who wins that love, O winsome 
child, O peerless Theo.” 


28 


Comedy of Petty Conflicts 


CHAPTER V. 

A LAMENT. 

Alone in his office at an early hour one morn- 
ing, Rupert sat facing a formidable array of 
bills, endeavoring to sum up his expense account. 
“Sporting life comes high,” he summarized, sink- 
ing wearily back into his chair as he realized that 
while he was chained to the fastest set in B — , his 
savings had disappeared like dust in a whirl- 
wind. Nights of revelry had been followed by 
days of restless movement, wearing upon nerve 
and brain and chilling ambition. 

“This dissipation shall stop,” Rupert promised 
his better self, cast down yet hopeful. “It shall 
stop or the ultimate result will be failure, ruin 
and moral shipwreck. I had believed my genius 
recognized and that wealth and fame were within 
my grasp. The skeleton of a lost opportunity 
confronts me unexpectedly. While I might have 
been giving free access to my intellectual power 
and regenerative force I have been leading the 
life of a prodigal fool. To be continually trapped 
into engagements with pleasure-seeking fe- 
males,” he lamented, “shows little evidence of 
sanity.” For a time remorse tortured the young 
man of weak flesh and willing spirit. Then de- 
termination of equal force swept over him and 


Comedy of Petty Conflicts 29 

he swore allegiance to the words he had spoken : 
"It shall stop.” 

While in solitude he had often felt the very 
unsatisfying result, the sense of peace and con- 
tentment disturbed by a restless desire for nov- 
elty, a realization that in catching the shadow 
he was losing the substance. But while his soul 
was full of yearning for a nobler career, frivo- 
lous womankind seemed to be weaving discordant 
colors in the strange fabric of his life. While 
thus cogitating Rupert’s tired head sank gradu- 
ally to the desk and kindly sleep folded him in 
oblivion. 

But slumber was disturbed by an early vis- 
itor. The farm manager, Job Croaker, had come 
with his semi-weekly report of farm disaster. 
Croaker had not, for veracity, the reputation of 
George Washington; his chief idiosyncrasy lay 
in presenting the dark side of things greatly mag- 
nified. Job’s restless eyes looked searchingly 
around the office as he held in his hand his most 
valued possession — the high hat. 

“Mornin’, Mas Rupert,” he called noisily, after 
he had dexterously pocketed a handful of cigars 
from a box on the mantel, "you drap sleep, sar? 
I ’spec’ you young mens does walk ’bout too 
much in de night time.” 

Wendell was irritated by the intrusion; be- 
sides, he had lost faith in Job’s righteousness. 
"Good-morning, Croaker, what’s the trouble 
now? Any more farm complications?” he ques- 
tioned, somewhat drowsily. 

"In dealing with cunning persons,” says Fran- 
cis Bacon, "we must ever consider their ends to 


30 


Comedy of Petty Conflicts 


interpret their speech, and it is good to say little 
unto them.” 

On this logical assurance Job was allowed to 
pour out his full complaint. 

"No sar,” he declared, "so far as I myself is 
co’sarned ebery ting gone long bedout a hitch, 
but I can’t say no good ’bout den torra no’ 
count nigger on de fa’m. At night, I gots to 
sleep wid one eye open, or else de plough boys 
will tief de hoss an’ mule out’n de stable an’ ride 
all ober de country till fowl crow, they inglect to 
water de cre’tur. Da boy Sam tief de hoss feed 
an’ trade um wid de blind tager man, on de con- 
der, fer grog. Sam is tossicate one half o’ de 
time. Two o’ de hoss is down on de lift dey so 
weak from hongry, dey can’t git up none ’tall. 
Fox an’ wild cat tak’ all de tuckey an’ guinea ” 

"Beware of hyperbole, Croaker,” interrupted 
his hearer. 

"Dem don’ come ’bout de place in de day time, 
sar. I spec you mean dem hypotamus wa dar in 
de riber swamp. ’Tis true I did shoot one torro 
night wid a live pig in ’e mouth, but he run, 
gone wid de pig all de same. 

"De boys lef ' de new ha’ness out in de rain, 
ruin um, they tief the lock off’n de dog 
house ” 

"Thriving farm you have there, Croaker, but 
mind don’t you let anything happen to my bird 
dogs, or I’ll shoot you into a honeycomb,” threat- 
ened Wendell, becoming interested because his 
dogs were imperiled. 

"Well, boss, please don’t shoot me sar, kase 
I done de best I kin, but Abraham Jackson, he 


Comedy of Petty Conflicts 31 

done dead an t’row out sence last week. Andrew 
Lincoln, ’e de la’ down dar eber sence ’e tookin 
sick, but ’e aint dead not yit. Now, Mas Rupert, 
I peticuler want you to exwise me, ’bout dat 
new mule Shoofly dat you bring from de hauc- 
tion sale torro day. Dat mule done testify dat ’e 
aint agwine to plough. I coax um, I push um, I 
lick um an’ in spite o’ ebery oder sperement I try 
wid um ’e balk, balk nuttin but balk. Shoofly act 
like ’e might cut an awfully capre if you crowd 
um, kase yistiddy ’e shake ’e numble heel arter 
we boys. Shoofly is a westerly mule an’ don’t 
seem to quaintan wid nigger. I t’ink you better 
le’ me trade um off fer a oxin.” 

“No, indeed,” cried Wendell, for the first time 
asserting some authority, “that mule cost two 
hundred dollars. He is a fine animal, but has 
never been trained for field work. Don’t give 
up — stand by him yet a while.” 

“Stan’ up by um !” cried the negro warmly, “I 
’clar to God, Mas Rypert, I stan’ up in de cot- 
ton field by dat tarrifying mule dis whole week 
gone, an’ de plough boys tak exwantage o’ dat 
p’ovokin’ sarcumstance to come stan’ up wid 
me, meantime de grass takin’ de cotton. Sam 
suggist dat we t’row down de mule, rub sand in 
’e mout’ an’ put crockle burr in ’e yers. An- 
oder no ’count nigger beg me to le’m tie cannon 
crackers to Shoofly tail.” 

“You certainly didn’t allow any such cruelty?” 
said Wendell sharply. 

“Oh, no sar, I didn’t le’ dem ignoramussy nig- 
ger pusscribe de treatmen’, but I sho try ebery 
oder punishmen’ dat is rickomen’ fer balkin’ 


32 Comedy of Petty Conflicts 

mule. I did hear say dat if you shoot balkin’ 
mule from de rear wid peas an’ fat bacin dey 
will move up, but I wouldn’t try dat new spere- 
ment bedout I ax you fust.” 

Wendell bit his lip hard to repress an oath, and 
was silent for a full minute while Croaker 
watched his face keenly to see if he approved of 
the last suggestion. Finally, with a gesture to- 
ward the door, Rupert cried: “Go, I can spare 
you no more time. Possibly the mule is accus- 
tomed to hauling; put him to the wagon to-mor- 
row and drive into the city for supplies.” 

“All right, sar!” cried Job gleefully as he shuf- 
fled out. “I’ll gamble on my last dollar dat Shoo- 
fly will pull dat wagin.” 


Comedy of Petty Conflicts 


33 


CHAPTER VI. 

TELEPHONE FLASHES. 

For Rupert the next day was one upon which 
everything went wrong. While busily engaged 
in his office in the forenoon there was a call for 
him at the 'phone. It was Job who spoke. 

“Mas Rupert, dat is you? Well, sar, I call you 
to tell you say dat Shoofly mule is balk by de 
’oman exchange building, zackly 'pontap de 
switch o' de street ca’ track. I tried to lead him 
off by 'e mange, kase 'e don't rickonize bridle an' 
bit, but 'e t’row up 'e head so high 'e lift me clean 
ofjf'm de ground. Den, when de cornductor run 
de street ca' close up behin' um an' hail in a 
loud woice, Shoofly 'spute dat man's right o’ 
way. Den de cornductor he git bex an' push de 
wagin’ 'pontap Shoofly an' yit dat mule stan' 'e 
ground an' brace back wid sech detarmination 
dat de ca’ switch off an' ge de mule de track. 

“Sar? You ax me wa’ in de hell I done wid 
de mule? I done eberyting dat is rickomend fer 
mule plague wid balk. 

“Sar? Lick um? I lick um till my whip done 
wear out, den I gouge um wid de handle. Sar? 
Butt um an' kick um? Why boss I hold um wid 
my two han’ an’ butt um till 'e skull crack, den I 
kick um till my foot hot me. Twiss ’e tail? No 


34 Comedy of Petty Conflicts 

sar, I neber do dat, one drummer man do dat 
rash ack. Sar? I dunno, sar. De las’ time I 
see um some oder drummer mens had um in a 
hambulanch gwine wid um — but I bet you he’ll 
neber twiss mule tail gen! 

“Mas Rupert, I eben made fire underneat’ dat 
mule an’ yit fer all dat ’e wouldn’t budge. De 
ha’ness ? Dat done bu’n up. De wagin ? It aint 
bu’n bad liker de ha’ness, but ’e can’t nuse gen. 
Sar? You say I been playing wid Helen Gen- 
eral? No, sar, I ain’t broke my breat’ to a 
’oman to-day. 

“Mas Rupert, Shoofly is ’rested by de per- 
lice. One light skin kind o’ black an’ tan’ ’oman 
come ’long on a freemale hoss an’ Shoofly grab 
de ’oman foot wid ’e mout’ juck um off’n de 
hoss. De ’oman heaby weight shoes is all dat 
sabe ’e life an’ keep ’e foot from bite off. Oh, 
don’t cuss me boss! Sar? Who is de ’oman? 
I ain’t quaintan wid um, sar, ’e from de back 
’oods. Now rickolick, boss, dat Shoofly is un- 
derneat’ ’restment an’ I kin do nuttin’ in de mat- 
ter till you pay de damage. Perlice cha’ge is 
five dollar fer wiolation o’ de town o’d’nance, de 
’oman ch’ge is ten dollar fer de mule bite ’e foot 
an’ stresspus on ’e hoss in de public t’orough- 
fare.” 

At that moment it was fortunate for the negro 
as well as for the mule that distance lay between 
them and their master. 

Involuntarily Wendell armed himself with a 
pistol as he rushed out of the office. “I’ll flatten 
bullets on that damned nigger’s impregnable 
skull,” he promised his fully aroused temper. “It 


Comedy of Petty Conflicts 35 

will give me keen delight, beside that invigorat- 
ing sport is legal in this part of the world/' 

He found Job of woebegone countenance hov- 
ering over the wagon wreck and fragments of 
harness; but the mule of Western grit was no- 
where to be seen. Job, greatly distressed, bereft 
of his high hat, hobbled forward to explain the 
sudden change in affairs. “Boss,” he cried in a 
dolorous voice, “when I left dis yer free show 
we had yer to talk to you through de telegraph, 
Shoofly bruck out o’ ha’ness, ’tice dat ’oman hoss 
off an’ gone wid um — but you jist wait till I 
ketch dat mule gen!” 

“Sell the mule immediately,” commanded his 
master in tones of repressed anger. “Take any 
price for him rather than carry him back to the 
farm.” 

Job rolled his eyes and he heaved a sigh of 
relief. “All right, boss,” he replied, “I tink dat 
is a wise co’clusion. Pm putty sho dat I kin sold 
Shoofly to dat same black an’ tan ’oman dat you 
owe ten dollar fer de mule bite ’e foot. I bet 
him husbunt is de right doctor to ’tend mule 
sick wid de balk. I’se a gwine right now to help 
de ’oman hunt ’e hoss an’ same time ketch dat 
tarrifying debil Shoofly.” 

When the season of bountiful harvest lay full 
upon the land, for his share of the farm proceeds 
Wendell reaped only the aftermath. That enter- 
prise proved absolute failure and loss. There 
was still something invested in mining interests, 
but being never very exacting where money was 


36 Comedy of Petty Conflicts 

concerned, he sold his shares for half their value 
and paid his debts to the last penny. 

In his impecunious condition he could not re- 
main longer in B — , for he would never again be 
citizen courtier. Having been despoiled and de- 
ceived by false gods, in future he would fall back 
more than ever upon the rich resources of his 
real self. 


Comedy of Petty Conflicts 


37 


CHAPTER VII. 

A turbulent spinster. 

The cynicism and flintiness of Charlotte Flint- 
of’s disposition was not a natural heritage; only 
after a few rounds of experience in the arena 
of life had she discovered these tendencies in her- 
self, succumbed to the petty conflicts of earth, 
and after the fashion of owls, nighthawks and 
moths, had given herself over to brooding in 
places of darkness. The acrid drop which had 
turned the milk of her nature was, of course, 
the base infidelity of the inferior sex. 

In her early girlhood she had been too straight- 
laced for the understanding of faulty man. 
Twice she had stood upon the threshold of ro- 
mance, and twice the door had closed upon her 
expectations. She drank of the cup of worm- 
wood when she was prepared for the very elixir 
of life. Her name was obliterated from Love's 
register, and in her rebellion she trained herself 
to snap and snarl at the very thought of matri- 
monial felicity. The tenderness and passion which 
had once glowed in her face soon hardened into 
a cold and calculating leer. Her maternal in- 
stincts were swallowed in disappointment, and 
her conscience was smothered in hate. At thirty 
she looked upon the pleasures of life with the 


38 Comedy of Petty Conflicts 

morose contempt that belongs to sullen age; and 
her gloomy countenance promised that when 
grown old she would become a repulsive hag. 
She spurned the masculine sex with all the vin- 
dictiveness of her nature; she searched out the 
vulnerable spots in men’s natures, and run into 
them the malicious sting of her pessimism. 

But the even tenor of her disgruntlement was 
doomed to interruption, when her sister’s infant, 
Theo, was left to her especial care. This bit of 
humanity’s extreme youth and helplessness ap- 
pealed to her; a spark of affection was rekindled 
in her frozen heart. The spinster was a pious 
soul, gauged by the tape measure of unpliable or- 
thodox religious principles. She reared Theo 
with laudable circumspection — prayerfully, and 
in an atmosphere of out-of-date moral conserva- 
tism. To shield the girl from the beguiling in- 
fluence of reprobate man was the respectable 
lady’s most fervent desire. 

When fifteen years old Theo was sent to board- 
ing school, where she soon developed into grace- 
ful womanhood. Miss Flintof was very proud 
of her and would anticipate with pleasure the 
summer vacations at home. The girl was dainty 
and fragile, her heart was warm and expansive, 
her mind pure and trusting, her manner always 
kindly and gracious. She suggested the delicate 
brightness of an April sunbeam, smiling upon all 
things. 

Some such thought as this occurred to Rupert 
Wendell when she came into his boy life. One 
beautiful day in spring Rupert, then a lad of 
seventeen, vaulted the high wall of Miss Flintof’s 


Comedy of Petty Conflicts 39 

back yard after a ball which accidentally had 
been thrown there. He ran headlong into a luxu- 
riant clematis vine, and was surprised to receive 
into his outstretched arms a bundle of soft mull 
and filmy lace, which proved to be a bit of loveli- 
ness in the form of little Theo. With a startled 
cry she held to her breast a white dove, which she 
was taking from the “virgin's bower. ,, 

“Were you after my dove, boy?" she cried in 
a panic. “Don't take it away from me — don't 
hurt it!" 

The boy blushed, stammered an excuse, and 
hurried away, his pulses in a tumult of embar- 
rassment. But he never forgot the incident ; and 
whenever he passed that way he looked for the 
fairy like girl. But three years elapsed before 
he again feasted his eyes upon her spiritual 
beauty. Then his heart cried out with the 
strength of early manhood, “I want her — I want 
her!" And as a thoughtless boy, with ruthless 
hand, grasps a beautiful bird or flower, he 
sought to possess himself of the coveted prize. 

On a peaceful Sabbath day, at the close of 
Easter services, Miss Flintof hastened to her 
prim colonial residence. She was in that su- 
premely tranquil state of mind that results from 
having fulfilled a duty. For had she not re- 
ceived absolution from the good father? She 
entered her drawing room in search of her pro- 
tege, who was at home for the holidays. Not 
finding the girl, she passed noiselessly over the 
thickly carpeted floor, and opened the door of 
the library. With a sudden gasp she halted on 
the threshold. She flipped her hand before her 


40 Comedy of Petty Conflicts 

eyes as if to brush away an illusion. But the 
tableau before her persisted in all its concrete 
and shocking reality. The sanctity of her vir- 
ginal abode had been invaded by the enemy. 

A young man of dashing and military appear- 
ance, superb in his physical structure, stood near 
the mantel. Beside him, clasped in his arms, 
with her head resting confidingly against his 
shoulder, was Theo. The girl, upon whom Miss 
Flintof had always looked as a model of mod- 
esty and propriety, held her face up to her lover, 
and the young people's lips met in all the fervor 
of first love. Visions of her own blighted hopes 
arose in Miss Flintof's mind, magnifying the 
lovers' offense ; and in fiery ill-temper she darted 
forward. 

“Rupert Wendell, what are you doing here?" 
she cried in a loud voice. “How dare you steal 
into my house in my absence, and take such lib- 
erties with my niece? Theo, you shameless imp 
of duplicity, what am I to understand by be- 
havior so degrading?" 

“Aunt Charlotte!" exclaimed the pink and 
white beauty, turning several shades pinker, and 
bringing her little palms together, as if in sup- 
plication. 

“Dear Miss Flintof," said the offending Apollo 
easily, “I beg of you, do not misunderstand Miss 
Theo. I — we love each other, and we want your 
consent to our marriage. Theo has prom- 
ised ” 

But before the young man could say what 
Theo had promised, Miss Flintof brought down 
her umbrella with a sounding whack on his curly 



Miss Flintof brought down her umbrella with a sound- 
ing whack on his curly head. 




































Comedy of Petty Conflicts 41 

head. In dignified disgust the good lady's hym- 
nal and prayer book fell to the floor, while her 
temper rose as a whirlwind. 

The eager flush on young Wendell's face deep- 
ened, and while a momentary flash of resentment 
leapt to his eyes, he did not change his attitude 
of profound respect. For a full minute Theo 
stood as still as a dainty piece of sculpture. The 
color slowly faded from her face, and her sweet 
blue eyes filled with tears of entreaty. As her 
lips parted in an effort to plead for her boy lover 
they trembled and revealed the lines of weakness 
in her sensitive face. Her speech was arrested, 
however, beneath Miss Flintof's scorching gaze. 
The girl had been trained to implicit obedience; 
she had learned long since not to measure her 
will with that of the spinster. But she was learn- 
ing another lesson now — love was transforming 
her into an impassioned woman. 

Miss Flintof towered over the girl, cruel and 
relentless, shaking her fist in Wendell's hand- 
some face. “Leave my house !" she commanded. 
“Never again dare to seek Miss Reynolds. After 
she is graduated in June she shall be guarded by 
the solemn walls of a convent till she forgets 
that you ever lived! You plebeian, how dare 
you aspire to the hand of my niece !" 

“Aunt Charlotte!" cried the girl, in heart- 
broken accents. 

“Hold your tongue!" screamed Miss Flintof 
in a high key. “Say one word in this interloper's 
defense, and he shall not escape from this house 
with whole bones !" 

Theo trembled and cowered, her timid nature 


4 2 Comedy of Petty Conflicts 

shrinking from the aggressive onslaught. She 
hung her head as a storm beaten flower. Her 
troubled face grew whiter and whiter with 
every malediction hurled at her debonair lover. 

Miss Flintof’s warlike manceuvers had thrown 
her hat awry, and its profusion of somber tips 
danced in hostile warning. With every nod of 
her head her frizzled hair became more and more 
dishevelled. Wendell indulged in a low, de- 
risive laugh. Theo, with a moan of anguish, sank 
on a chair. The laugh did not soothe Miss Flin- 
tof’s nerves. 

“Laugh, you cur!” she said. “Your presump- 
tion is unequalled. Miss Reynolds can trace her 
lineage back to crowned heads. South Carolina 
old school aristocracy is world renowned. We 
glory in the pride of our forefathers, and scorn 
modern democracy. Begone, sir ! I am confident 
that you don’t know who your grandsire was. 
Perhaps you purchased the house next door to 
be near my niece ?” 

“I did, ma’am,” replied Wendell bluntly; 
“knowing that I should be your neighbor, also. 
But a man can endure hell for a while in order 
to attain heaven.” He then turned to Theo, 
dropped on one knee before her, and caught her 
clasped hands in his. “Dear Theo,” he said, his 
voice softening. Then he whispered some com- 
forting words to her. He did not observe that 
Miss Flintof was edging toward him until she 
laid a strong, fierce hand on the back of Theo’s 
chair. She gave it a vigorous whirl and shove, 
which sent Theo rolling far from her persistent 


Comedy of Petty Conflicts 43 

wooer; and he was left kneeling before his glar- 
ing enemy. 

“I defy you to utter one word more to my 
niece, sir!” she hissed, drawing herself up with 
folded arms. She seemed to dilate in her fury 
until, to Theo’s excited mind, the spinster seemed 
enveloped in a lurid cloud. 

Wendell arose from his kneeling posture, and 
reached for his hat, which he had tossed careless- 
ly upon the family Bible. He gazed steadfastly 
into Miss Flintofs fiery orbs as he spoke. “I 
cannot forget that you, unfortunately, are the 
relative of my affianced wife, and for her sake 
I will temporize. But if you were a man I should 
be compelled to — strike you.” 

“Strike!” sneered the spinster; “it will be the 
only notable hit you will ever make in life.” 


44 


Comedy of Petty Conflicts 


CHAPTER VIIT 

BONNY CECIL. 

Theo returned to her studies at school with an 
expression of pensive sadness, not unmixed with 
satisfaction, on her pretty face. Her last vacation 
at home had materially changed her. As a result 
of Miss Flintofs oppressive rule against man in 
general, and Theo’s lover in particular, the girl 
had resorted to duplicity. Her clandestine meet- 
ings with Wendell, the tender missives which she 
carried in her bosom, the hurried whispers, the 
stolen caresses — all of these seemed the more pre- 
cious since they had been forbidden her. 

Wendell was her ideal of a romantic, chival- 
rous, determined lover. His reckless disregard 
of consequences in his efforts to be beside her, 
filled her at once with apprehension and joy. At 
midnight he would watch her window from his 
balcony, waiting patiently until her little hand 
stole out from behind the lattice to wave him a 
good-night. When she went out with her aunt 
the young man was sure to be somewhere near 
by, notwithstanding Miss Flintof’s commands for 
him to keep at a distance. When the irate spins- 
ter frowned on him in stormy indignation, he 
retaliated with a courteous bow, executed in 
graceful defiance. He knew that Miss Flintof 


Comedy of Petty Conflicts 45 

assiduously watched the daily mails, to stop any 
communication between the lovers ; but his letters 
continued to reach Theo through those myste- 
rious channels which love, when stimulated by 
opposition, is sure to erode. 

“It will not be long, my girlie,” he said to 
Theo, in one of these missives ; “my prospects are 
good. My recent connection with the old estab- 
lished law firm of Bently & Bently gives me pres- 
tige, and an opportunity to make the dear little 
girl who is to become my wife proud of me.” 

And the handsome young lawyer bent all his 
energies toward carving out a career for himself. 
His spontaneous nature and boyish enthusiasm 
won him many a success, where an older head, 
more likely to take account of obstacles, would 
have failed. Young as he was, he was much 
sought after; but he eluded the enticements of 
the social net, much to the disappointment of 
many a fair girl and scheming matron. He had 
but one object, one woman in mind, and for these 
he planned and worked with an unvarying single- 
ness of purpose. 

Cecil Dupree, Theo’s college chum and room- 
mate, was mystified by her companion’s altered 
demeanor. Heretofore the two had confided in 
each other with girlish abandon, loyally sharing 
each other’s smiles and tears. Never a spirit of 
rivalry had cast a shadow over their happiness. 
But bosom friends as they were, their natures 
were as antipodal as summer and winter. Theo, 
like the mass of girls, displayed sentimental de- 
fects. Cecil flouted the subject of love and matri- 
mony, carrying herself with the independent 


46 Comedy of Petty Conflicts 

poise that marks the girl who is determined to 
make her own way in the world. She had 
known poverty, and to an unusual degree real- 
ized the necessity of taking advantage of her 
opportunities. Studious and ambitious, with a 
rare earnestness of purpose, she headed her 
classes in school, and carried the chief honors 
for the coming commencement. She was good 
to look upon, well educated, sensible, and pos- 
sessed of that pride which enabled her to know 
her own worth, and which filled her with a de- 
sire to be active in life’s battle. 

When the last evening at the seminary came 
the two young girls went to their room at an 
early hour. Cecil, plump and petite, stood before 
the mirror and released the coil of her heavy 
hair, which glowed almost red in the gas light. 
Theo wistfully regarded the peaceful night from 
the window. She was dreaming of her lover, and 
wondering how best to tell her friend about him, 
and his plans for the immediate future. Convent 
walls forsooth ! An innocent smile parted Theo’s 
lips, and her sensitive face changed with every 
emotion. 

"Moonstruck, Theo?” inquired Cecil merrily. 
"It seems to me you’ve been living in an atmos- 
phere of delicious mystery and dreamy silence 
long enough. What does it all mean ? W ake up, 
girlie. I’ve been planning out a splendid future 
for us. Theo, we must make a success of our 
careers. Oh, I’m just running over with ambi- 
tion r 

Theo pulled nervously at the curtain, then 
looked helplessly at her friend. 


Comedy of Petty Conflicts 47 

“Wherever Fate may lead us, Theo,” contin- 
ued Cecil, “we’ll not live the humdrum lives of 
the mass of women, who are bound by the chain 
of servility. Eh, dearest?” 

“What chains?” inquired Theo guiltily. 

“Matrimonial chains, of course. We haven’t 
the superstitious dread of being old maids, which 
drives so many talented women into bondage. 
In my vocabulary lovers and idiots are synony- 
mous words and marriage is suicide. Who can 
tell how many women might have amounted to 
something if they hadn’t in youth promised to 
'serve and obey’?” 

Theo clasped her delicate hands, while a tear 
trembled on her lashes. Slowly approaching her 
friend, Theo put her arms about Cecil, and turned 
away her blushing face. 

“I’m going to confide a secret to you, Cecil,” 
she said, “the only one I’ve ever kept from you. 
Forgive me, will you?” 

“Why, Theo !” exclaimed Cecil, “what can you 
mean? Surely nothing important has happened, 
or you would have told me long ago.” 

“Yes, something of vital importance has hap- 
pened — the event of my life.” Theo hid her 
face, and seemed unable to proceed. 

“Well, well, do tell me about it!” cried Cecil, 
shaking her friend affectionately, then kissing 
the little shell-like ear. “Suspense and curiosity 
are consuming me. Out with it, you little freak. 
Have you found your fairy prince, and are you 
going to exhibit him on this, your entrance into 
the busy world ? Who is he ? What is he like ?” 

Encouraged by the interest she had awakened, 


48 Comedy of Petty Conflicts 

Theo raised her head, and looked steadfastly 
into her friend's eyes. “What an elegant guess !■” 
she cried. “Yes, I have found my prince in the 
person of Rupert Wendell, who worships me; 
and his most ardent wish is for our speedy 
union.” 

Cecil drew a quick breath, and stared at Theo. 
“Prodigious absurdity!” she sneered, then 
laughed heartily. 

“Cecil, I was never more in earnest in my life. 
My reason for not sooner confiding this darling 
secret is that I feared you would disapprove or 
ridicule me.” 

“Both of which I now heartily do !” spoke Ce- 
cil with vehemence, and an air of severe dignity. 
“For goodness sake, don't do anything so silly, 
I implore you. Wait at least ten years before you 
think of putting the yoke on your neck.” 

“Cecil, I appreciate your kindly interest, but 
you don't understand. Marriage is the crown of 
every woman’s existence. It is a God-given in- 
stitution.” Theo gained courage by utterance, 
and her voice rang out fresh and triumphant with 
its own conviction. She looked at Cecil with eyes 
alight, and her cheeks glowing. Her absolute 
confidence in what she was saying irritated Ce- 
cil, who, with an impatient gesture exclaimed: 

“Come back to earth, Theo, you poor mis- 
guided, lovesick soul, and explain your farcical 
idea of happiness.” 

“There is no explanation for the laws of na- 
ture, Cecil, more than our common sense can 
grasp. Marriage — the fulfilment of love! Ah, 
Cecil, is there anything more wonderful, more 


Comedy of Petty Conflicts 49 

beautiful than being ever in the arms of the man 
you adore ?” 

“Steady there! Hold on to yourself !” cried 
Cecil, her eyes sparkling with amusement over 
a feeling that was totally incomprehensible to 
her. She was disappointed that her friend could 
indulge in what seemed to her a cheap sentimen- 
talism, and she was hurt to find that she was no 
longer first in Theo’s affections. Gentle Theo had 
loved Cecil with an undivided devotion, and had 
shadowed every footstep of her chum while at 
school. 

“I hope that the love which has come to you 
will bring you no regret/’ said Cecil coldly. “As 
for me, I shall crave no more than contentment 
— it is the philosophy of living. I have decided 
upon a life of celibacy, and I had fondly hoped 
that you — Oh, Theo, you have made the mistake 
of your life!” She turned away, her usual firm- 
ness forsaking her. 


Comedy of Petty Conflicts 


5 ° 


CPIAPTER IX. 

AN IMITATIVE WOOER. 

Miss Flintof flitted from room to room in her 
orderly home. The spring housecleaning had 
been completed, and the renovated carpets and 
furniture were primly returned to their places. 
Theo’s apartment had been modernized and re- 
fitted in dainty white and gold. It lacked noth- 
ing that taste and comfort could suggest. Miss 
Flintof was taking great pleasure in preparing 
for her niece’s home coming. All of the senti- 
ment of her nature, so long crushed out, had 
rushed back upon her heart, and centered itself 
in Theo, and she loved the girl with passionate 
selfishness. There was nothing she would not 
have done for Theo, short of sharing the small- 
est portion of her affection with anyone else. 

“She is enough to fill my life — why should not 
I be sufficient for her?” reasoned the spinster, as 
she touched the draperies here and there, and ar- 
ranged the fresh flowers in their vases. 

Miss Flintof was planning a summer vacation 
with her niece in the White Mountains. She 
had selected an out-of-the-way refuge where 
there were few chances for a girl to meet would- 
be wooers. The girl should have plenty of inno- 
cent diversion in her aunt’s company; and she 


Comedy of Petty Conflicts 5 1 

would learn to forget the folly of a summer’s 
day. 

The placidity of Miss Flintof’s mind would 
have been considerably disturbed could she have 
known that Theo had stepped from the gradu- 
ating platform into a closed carriage, and that 
Rupert Wendell, leaping in after the girl, had 
hastily ordered the cabman to drive to a well- 
known church on the outskirts of the town. There 
Theo became the wife of the man she loved. 

Mrs. Rupert Wendell perhaps should have 
heaved one little sigh for Cecil’s loveless life, and 
one for Miss Flintof’s disappointment and deso- 
lation, but within her superabundantly happy 
heart there was no room for a sigh. On the day 
after her marriage she crossed the threshold of 
her new home with emotions of excessive rap- 
ture. In proud triumph Wendell lead her 
through the house, in the arrangement of which 
he had tried to anticipate every wish of his wife. 
Leaning confidingly on Rupert’s arm, her child- 
ish face aglow, Theo was extravagant in her ex- 
pressions of praise and gratitude. 

Yoilng Wendell gazed tenderly into the girl’s 
blue eyes, as if loath to lose one fleeting expres- 
sion in their soft depths. “Oh, sweetheart!” he 
whispered, “you are my heaven of love, rest and 
home !” 

The girl nestled closer to him, and sentimental 
tears filled her eyes. “Will you always feel this 
way toward me, Rupert dear?” she asked, with a 
little quiver in her voice. 

“Always, my darling! Life shall be one happy 
summer’s dream for us; and you shall be the 


'52 


Comedy or Petty Conflicts 


queen ever to reign over our domain of happi- 
ness.” 

What more satisfying answer could any 
woman ask? These commonplace utterances, 
which have passed between lovers from time im- 
memorial, filled Theo with peace, and she closed 
her eyes contentedly. What use to conjure up the 
bugaboos of every day practical life, which 
might intrude upon the future, when so much 
joy was to be had in the present? 

And as to Wendell — well, he was but a man, 
and he possessed the one living bit of humanity 
he desired. 

“William,” he called to the colored butler, 
“here are the keys. Take charge, and remember 
that your mistress is to have no annoyance what- 
ever. Consult her wishes in all matters, receive 
her orders, and see that they are obeyed.” 

“Yes, sar — zactly,” responded William, as he 
bowed and scraped. “De little misses shall not 
be boddered with nuttin, kase Fse gwine to carry 
tings along bedout a hitch — I is.” He glanced 
slyly at the lovers from the corner of his eye, and 
the suspicion of a smile lurked around his Afri- 
can lips. 

“I ’clar to God, Miss Mary,” he chuckled, 
joining the cook a few minutes later, “dem peo- 
ple in de house ain’t ’shame to hug up right To’ 
me. I bet Mars Ruput will stop walk ’bout in 
de night now fo’ a w’ile.” 

“Go way, chil’ !” replied Mary. “Mars Rup’ 
wouldn’t make lub befo’ a nigger like you.” 

“Dat’s zactly wa he did ! An’ you need n’ put 
on airs kase you’s got a little white blood. Hear 


Comedy of Petty Conflicts 53 

’bout de cuttin’ scrape las’ night?” he asked, ab- 
ruptly changing the subject. 

“No; wa ’bout it?” Mary opened her sleepy 
eyes in pleasant anticipation of the latest bit of 
gossip. 

“Well, dar was a free ball up town, an’ you 
know dem alley ’oomans is de debil. Las’ night 
a yallar gal try to take ’way a black ’ooman’s 
man fum her; an’ de black ’ooman git a razor 
outer her stockin’ an’ slice up de yaller gal. 
Den de screamin’ ’track de ’tention of de police, 
an’ dey come an’ pull de crowd. I ’scape t’rough 
de window, or I would be a squattin’ down in 
de lockup now, kase I gots no money to pay me 
out. I lose my las’ dime a shootin’ craps. Is 
you got any cash, honey?” William sidled up 
to Mary, and attempted to put his arm about 
her; but she checked him, brandishing a frying 
pan over his head. 

“No ’ooman should encourage anoder ’ooman’s 
man,” she said sagely, “less’n de owner of dat 
man is out o’ sight; kase it’s boun’ to make 
sturvance.” 

“Dat’s so,” exclaimed William, as he patted 
her shoulder, “a man or ’ooman eider mus’ know 
w’ar dey husban’ or wife is locate ’fo dem go a 
matin’ wid wa don’ b’longs to dem. Miss Mary, 
you’s a honey gal — you know w’at’s w’at.” Then 
he lowered his voice. “Da’lin,’ I likes you, I 
sutainly does. De bu’ds is a lubin’ in de trees, de 
buckra is a lubin’ in de house. Let’s you an’ me 
j’in up, an’ git in de game. Wa say, honey gal?” 

Although previously rejecting his caresses, 
Mary now weakened. Her mouth broadened in 


54 Comedy of Petty Conflicts 

a coquettish grin. “You shet you mouf,” she 
said, in a tone that belied her words. 

William needed no stronger hint, and their 
ponderous lips met in a succession of explosive 
smacks, which resounded throughout the kitchen. 

Suddenly William paused and listened. “Dar’s 
de call bell,” he said ; “I gots to lef you, honey.” 

The first rapturous days of the Wendell hon- 
eymoon were more like a dream than reality to 
the lovers. They counted the moments when they 
were apart, and seemed unable to fully express 
the ecstacy of their hearts when together. After 
Wendell had started for his office in the morn- 
ing, the butler was kept busy answering the door- 
bell, and receiving for his mistress gifts bought 
by her husband on his way down town — expen- 
sive bits of bric-a-brac, a piece of rare old china, 
books, music or flowers. They were usually ac- 
companied by a tender missive full of the soft 
nothings which delight lovers. 

As the day drew to a close, and shifting sun- 
beams made airy shadows of the leaves, while 
countless mocking birds trilled their evening song 
to their mates, Theo would wait and listen in the 
shadow of the honeysuckle vine — listen for the 
one step that could make her heart beat faster, 
and deepen the color in her delicately tinted 
cheeks. Sometimes she would sit at the piano, 
softly singing some of Wendell’s favorite songs. 
Again she would occupy one of the two wicker 
chairs drawn into a cozy corner, trying to im- 
agine that Wendell sat beside her. 


Comedy of Petty Conflicts 55 

“Oh, dear, how long the time seems !" she 
would whisper, “surely he must come soon!" 

Presently the familiar step on the pavement, 
the click of the gate latch would be heard, and 
the lovers would fly to each other's arms, there 
to cling together in a lingering embrace. 

“My precious love, my wee wifie, how long the 
day has been without you !" were Wendell's first 
words, as he held Theo's smiling face between 
his hands, and gazed into her lovelit eyes. Then 
in a shadowy alcove, where they could look out 
upon the darkening garden, they would sit to- 
gether, forgetful of everything save the bond 
between them. 

“This is our Eden !" whispered Theo one even- 
ing, as her head lay upon her husband's shoul- 
der, and his face nestled down to hers, with all 
the warmth of his passion. 

“Yes, love," he answered, “but there never will 
be a serpent to enter our Eden, and mar our 
paradise. We’ll always belong to each other — 
we'll be lovers even in our old age. Say that we 
shall — won't you, Theo?" 

“Yes, we'll always be lovers — always be true 
to each other. Tell me that no one else can ever 
take my place in your affections, hubby darling!" 

“You will always be my heart's best and only 
love !" declared the young husband conclusively, 
crushing her in his arms. 

The butler prudently knocked on the door be- 
fore entering to announce dinner, and while in 
the dining room he stood behind his master’s 
chair, possessed with bashfulness. He felt him- 
self de trop, yet could not leave his post of duty. 


56 Comedy of Petty Conflicts 

When idle he rolled his eyes upward, riveting 
them on the ceiling, while his countenance ex- 
pressed the piety of a Methodist circuit rider. 

For the lovers the dinner hour was a continua- 
tion of smiles, languishing looks, and saccharine 
tete-a-tete. When it was over, and they had 
ordered the carriage, they sauntered from the 
room, arm in arm, billing and cooing as they 
went. 

The butler, looking after them, indulged in a 
subdued chuckle. 

“Wha' you shickerin' to yo'se'f fo’, you fool 
nigger?” asked Mary. 

“Ki-yi ! Honey, you's knows 'bout dat later on. 
Mars and Misses goin' out to-night. Le' me 
hurry up an' git de kerridge, an' take dem to de 
hapra ; den w'en I gits back, I'll sample dem wine 
an' ting, an' res' on de sofy a while. Dem's fine 
cigar wa' dar upstairs in de closic.” 

Bill carried a broad grin as he followed Mary 
to the kitchen. “Dey's started to go'ut an' I 
hopes dey'll keep it up, kase a feller can't enjoy 
no kint o' priv'lege w'en dey's a settin' roun' de 
house, tryin' to chaw one anoder mout' off all de 
time.” 

Bill proceeded to sample the good things as 
soon as the coast was clear. But in his haste he 
forgot to replace the stoppers in their respective 
bottles, and his taste for fine cigars and other 
luxuries hurried him in his operations, for he 
must accomplish all his purposes in time to at- 
tend his master and % mistress upon their return 
with the grave dignity becoming a butler. 

Bill could assume any manner he fancied, and 


Comedy of Petty Conflicts 57 

sometimes after the most treasonable offense. 
His look of piety, his extreme politeness and pa- 
tient forbearance had always shifted his misdo- 
ings to some less innocent looking character. 

As the night was clear and balmy, the Wen- 
dells had arranged to walk home. When they 
returned they stood for a while on the stoop, 
watching the mellow moon. The music and the 
romance of the evening’s entertainment haunted 
their memories as a delicious dream, adding fuel 
to their sentimentalism. They had not been able 
to conceal their devotion to each other even as 
they sat in their box. It had been remarked with 
amusement by some of Rupert’s bachelor friends, 
while spinsters and disappointed married women 
sighed and criticised. 

Wendell drew his wife’s face toward him, and 
was about to kiss her lips, when she drew back. 

“Be careful — don’t! Someone is passing!” she 
whispered. “Let us go in to our cozy corner.” 

“Yes, let us go quickly. I can hardly wait, my 
darling, for those lips. I haven’t kissed them 
since — since we got out of the carriage.” 

They entered the house, and without turning 
on the lights, hurried arm in arm to the alcove. 
Theo was about to sink back into the chair with 
her arms about her husband’s neck. But with an 
exclamation of fear she paused and clung to 
him. 

“What is it, my angel? Are you ill?” cried 
Wendell, in alarm. 

“A man!” screamed Theo, in terror. 

The light was quickly turned on, and lo ! There 
in the shrine of love sat Bill, the butler. Squeezed 


58 Comedy of Petty Conflicts 

into the chair beside him was Mary, the cook. 
Her head rested on his shoulder, and both slept 
serenely. William held a cigar, and on the floor 
beside him stood a half emptied goblet of brandy. 
His face wore a pleased expression of ease, his 
clumsy feet rested on a silken couch; and his 
whole attitude was that of a man in an advanced 
state of debauchery. His horror stricken specta- 
tors gazed at the pair in mute astonishment. 
With wonderful self-control Wendell led his wife 
from the room. Then he returned to the Bac- 
chanalian, seized him by the collar, dragged him 
to the open window, and with violence hurled 
him into the garden. 

The scuffle aroused Mary, and with a scream 
she disappeared toward the servants’ quarters. 
Bill’s head struck the cemented walk with some 
force, but he slumbered on, and dreamed that 
he had rolled from his bed. The bright rays of 
the early sun scarcely disturbed his rest, but at 
his usual hour for rising he scratched his head 
and looked about him. 

“Whar I is, anyhow?” he soliloquized. “De 
jew got me all wet up. I spec I drap to sleep las’ 
night out yer in de flowers yad. Good Lo’d !” he 
exclaimed, suddenly remembering. Without 
more ado he gathered his belongings, and wisely 
forsook the premises, omitting to serve notice. 
Mary was also among the missing that morning, 
but Dinah, her mother, came to apologize for her 
daughter’s offense. 

“Dat debil Bill is de ruin of dat gal,” she de- 
clared, “he bin a bunk up to Mary fer de longest 
time. But he’s too recklisome fer I to manage. 


Comedy of Petty Conflicts 59 

I done run him from us house, an’ he come back 
dar de oder night in de rain, wid a ile skin ober 
his head. He peep t’ rough de crack, and call 
‘Mary’ saftly. Boss, I bin so vex I take de skillet 
o’ b’ilin' water, an’ Brow it Brough de window on 
him. I bet you he gone back home a leap in' ! 
But yer is her si’ Patsy. Patsy^ don't you ack 
like no fool. Stan' up an' tell de lady dat you 
wan' Mary's place !” 

Patsy stood with folded arms and a vacant 
stare, as if unconscious of having been addressed. 

“Aunty, can Patsy cook?" asked the master, 
uneasily. 

“Yas, sar — she’s a pious gal !" answered Dinah 
emphatically, as if sure that the piety would 
serve as a sufficient recommendation for her 
daughter's cookery. “She’s a quiet gal — she don’ 
make no n’ise. Same like you see her, she stan’ 
dat way all de time. Now, Mary, she got de 
swif'ness o’ de fambly." 

Much as this naive reply amused Wendell he 
was filled with dismay. 

“She’ll never do, Dinah. Can you cook?" 

“Oh, yas sar," was the ready reply, with a low 
courtesy. “I's a natu'al born cook. An’ if you’ll 
please, boss, don’ put my darter on de chain dis 
time, I’ll pray God to bress you. I tells you, it's 
all de fault o' dat black nigger, Bill.” 

Dinah was installed. But when Theo timidly 
tried to excuse Mary's misdemeanor, her hus- 
band stopped her with a kiss. “Don't let such 
lips as yours plead for the shameless wench. 
Mary's offense is beyond pardon. Come, those 
biscuits look very tempting. Butter one for your 


60 Comedy of Petty Conflicts 

hubby. It will be nicer if touched by your dear 
little hands.” 

Theo smiled as she sliced the biscuit open ; but 
a startled look came into her eyes, and suddenly 
she dropped the knife. 

“Did you cut your precious finger?” Wendell 
reached for her hand as he spoke. 

“No, oh no,” replied Theo, blushing painfully, 
and trying to conceal the biscuit. 

“Let me see,” Wendell persisted, drawing her 
hand toward him. Knowing no will of her own, 
Theo again opened the biscuit. There was a mo- 
ment’s silence in which her husband bit his lip 
ferociously to smother an unholy benediction 
upon Dinah, for snugly embedded in the snowy 
lining was a kinky tress of hair. Wendell sent a 
p e-emptory message to the kitchen, and Dinah 
appeared, with drooping jaw and ashen color. 

“I ’clar, Mars Ruput, Fs vex wid myself fer 
sich a norful naxident. While I was waitin’ fer 
de stove to git hot, I says to myself, says I, 
'Comb your head, ol’ gal,’ an’ it was den dat 
patch o’ wool must bin shed off in de flour. My 
eyesight is gittin’ bad, but de nex’ time I went 
to de shop I’s a gwine to buy me a green spec- 
tacle. Please, boss, ’scuse me fo’ dis time, an’ 
I’ll neber comb my head again ; an’ nuttin’ wrong 
shan’t neber happen, or I hope dat God might 
neber le’ me si’ down roun’ de t’rone on high wid 
dem ol’ patria’ch Abra’um, an’ sech like.” 

Dinah worked diligently to serve the meals in 
a high state of perfection during the days that 
followed ; but, sad to relate, a calamity as shock- 
ing as that of the biscuit at length befell the 


Comedy of Petty Conflicts 6i 

tureen of soup, which “naxident” caused the dis- 
charge of the cook, and threw the young people 
upon their own resources, leaving them in a 
helpless state of perplexity. 


62 


Comedy of Petty Conflicts 


CHAPTER X. 

THE SCOGGINS*. 

Cecil Dupree prepared to enter earnestly upon 
the humdrum duties of pedagogy. Her young 
energies and ambitions were demanding an out- 
let, and she seized upon the first opportunity for 
action. The charm of novelty possessed her as 
she stepped onto the train, bound for a little sta- 
tion in a remote farming region. She had been 
born and brought up in the city, but had always 
craved the freedom and the wholesome sweet- 
ness of country life. And now she was to have 
her fill of it. She had procured a position as 
teacher of a country school at Pine Station, and 
was to take up the work at once. 

The girl smiled joyously as giant oaks, waving 
fields of grain, green meadows, tumultuous 
brooks, flower gardens and cosy country homes 
whirled past the coach windows, in variegated 
panorama. She meant to put herself on a com- 
mon footing with the simple, honest farmer folk 
among whom her lot was to be cast. She would 
try to understand their life and ways, and to es- 
tablish a bond of sympathy between them and 
herself. She pictured them in her mind with 
rosy, smiling faces, pursuing their rural occupa- 
tions among fields of plenty, and bowers of 
greenery. 


Comedy of Petty Conflicts 63 

But as the train penetrated further and further 
into the country the landscape grew less lovely. 
Sun-scorched fields, with scarcely a tree to break 
their monotony, stretched far and wide, and 
"Pine Station’' lay among the most desolate sur- 
roundings. As Cecil stepped from the train she 
was met by an uncouth farmer, who accosted her 
bluntly. 

"Pm John Scoggins. Be you the new school- 
misses?” He touched the brim of his heavy felt 
hat, and stood in awkward expectation. 

Cecil’s cheeks flushed, and involuntarily she 
drew back. Then, bravely smothering her repug- 
nance, she greeted Mr. Scoggins courteously. 
He assisted her to mount his high Jersey wagon 
for a drive of sixteen miles through a barren 
looking country in the wilds of North Carolina. 

Scoggins filled his mouth with tobacco, flour- 
ished his whip, and in a loud voice called to his 
mule, "Git ’lang, Ben Tilman!” 

"South Carolina name,” observed Cecil. 

"Yah, but this critter is named fo’ the ol’ stock, 
afo’ they got to be somebody. Ben h’isted ’em 
up to glory. His daddy an’ mine was contempt- 
ousarier — they plowed side by side barefoot as 
long as they lived.” 

Silence fell for a space; then Cecil ventured, 
"Is the farm far from here?” 

"Right sma’t of a ride,” replied Scoggins, spit- 
ting clear of the wheel. "My fa’m is only a mile 
from Campville. It’s thar the ’ristocrats is set- 
tled; an’ bein’ you’s a fine lady, Miss Dupree, 
likely they’ll take to you. An’ ef the fa’m is too 
lonesome fo’ you, why go thar. Betty Robins — 


64 Comedy of Petty Conflicts 

she ’twas Betty Miller — keeps a pow’ful big ho- 
tel. The village folks is a proud and stuck up 
set, sho’s you live. They owned niggers afo’ the 
war, and they’s too proud to work yit; so they 
set back hongry, and brag Tout what tha’ dad- 
dies done, an’ who they’s kin to now. Thar’s a 
’Piscopal meetin’ house in the village, but tha’s 
no religion in it, you bet. It ’lows anything in 
the line o’ sin. ’Piscoloppians is got a conscience 
that can stretch like injun rubber. The pa’sin 
here is prouder than any of ’em; he struts ’roun’ 
the street a flirtin’ slyly with all the women folks, 
old an’ young. The old maids in Campville is 
gone plumb crazy a’ter ’im. Of a Sunday he 
trigs hisself out in a long white shroud, an’ 
preaches thar ain’t no hell fire.” 

“I fear that you do not understand the Epis- 
copal service,” said Cecil. “Join the people in 
their worship and you will find it comforting and 
instructive.” 

“Not much!” cried Scoggins. “I ain’t got no 
desire to set in the seats of the sco’nful. Them 
worldly minded pa’sins is got the swellhead; 
they git up an’ decla’ God gi’n ’em power to fo’- 
give sin. Did you ever hear tell o’ sech a thing ?” 

Cecil had that estimable virtue, sympathy, for 
those less fortunate than herself; she patiently 
tried to show the illiterate man the error of his 
judgment, and the evil of prejudice. But Mr. 
Scoggins affirmed that he believed in a religion 
not subject to the changes of fashion. 

A turn in the road brought the travelers in 
sight of the Scoggins farm. Cultivated fields 
could be seen on every side; the sunlight glim- 


Comedy of Petty Conflicts 65 

mered on waving grain in the fullness of har- 
vest time, mellowing the rich gold tints. The 
rambling farmhouse, built of solid logs, was sur- 
rounded by pine trees. In the rear was an im- 
mense barnyard, noisy with the clucking and 
crowing of its feathered occupants, as they gath- 
ered about the open doors of a mammoth barn. 
A pigpen and a smokehouse were in sight, while 
an old-fashioned well and horse trough occupied 
a conspicuous position in the front yard. 

Cecil gazed in wonder at the rustic scene. She 
saw the great, clumsy cows slowly pass through 
the open bars, the leader's bell jingling to her 
measured tread. A sun-browned farmhand led 
his yoke of oxen to water. While he waited at 
the trough he drew his brogans from his sock- 
less feet, and knocked the sand out of the clumsy 
shoes. 

True to the spirit of rural hospitality, the 
Scoggins family stood about the front door 
awaiting the arrival. As the wagon drew up they 
gazed at Cecil in motionless silence. Presently 
two of the youngsters, in juvenile excitement at 
the idea of meeting a stranger, darted wildly 
from the road into the kitchen and back again. 
They were freshly frocked, and their straw-col- 
ored locks had been oiled and plastered for the 
occasion. 

“Wall, we're to hum," said Scoggins. 

Cecil clambered down from her elevated perch. 

“Ma," said Scoggins, “this is the new school 
misses. I didn't speck to see such a young gal." 

“Come right in," cried Mrs. Scoggins, de- 


66 Comedy of Petty Conflicts 

lightedly. “We uns is glad to see you. What 
mo’t be yo’ name ?” 

“Miss Dupree.” 

“That sounds too offish. What mo’t be yo’ 
fust name?” 

“Cecil,” replied the girl, with a subdued sigh. 
She did not crave intimacy. And she expected 
that she was to have been the one to make the 
first advances. 

“Wall, Miss Cecil, come right in an’ make 
yo’self to hum. Them’s my daughters — May 
Ann, Rose, an’ ’Lizabeth. This leetle boy is Bud, 
an’ this un is Jeemes; but he don’t answer to 
Jeemes — you must call him 'Bully.’ His pa nick- 
named him Bully ’cause he’s sech a fighter. Come, 
boys, don’t dodge ’bout; shake hands with yo’ 
teacher. Pull yo’ hat foo Miss Cecil.” 

In dismay poor Cecil looked at the mother, 
and then at the daughters and sons. And as she 
reviewed the family her spirits dropped to zero. 
Her fancy had anticipated pastoral beauty and 
picturesque people. But here was the reality. 
Mrs. Scoggins’ lank form was clad in a skimpy 
calico skirt and tight basque; her yellowish hair 
was frizzed, and from its odor was evidently 
scorched by a curling iron; her upper lip was 
short, her gums blue, her teeth imperfect. Rose 
and Elizabeth, although having a certain comeli- 
ness of youth, resembled their mother, while 
Mary Ann bore the flesh of the family. 

The evening meal being ready, Cecil followed 
her hostess into the kitchen, where she was in- 
troduced to several men who labored on the tur- 
pentine tract. The girl never forgot the crude 


Comedy of Petty Conflicts 67 


bounty of that supper. The unique centerpiece 
on the table was a gigantic gourd filled with curd, 
floating in delicious cream. At each plate was 
a small tin can-top. What it was intended for 
Cecil could not imagine, but while she was try- 
ing to solve the problem the butter was handed 
to her, and she placed some of it on the tin disc. 

“Why, honey," exclaimed Mrs. Scoggins, 
“that ain't fo’ butter." 

“Pardon me, please," Cecil replied in confu- 
sion; “I thought it was intended for that pur- 
pose." 

“No, no," laughed Mrs. Scoggins; “when you 
pour your coffee in the saucer to cool it, you 
must put the hot cup in the can-top, so that it 
won't stick to the ilecloth." 

“Ah," said Cecil good-naturedly, “I didn't 
know that." 

“I thought teachers knowed eve'ything," inter- 
posed the host. But he saw the flash of the girl's 
eyes, and fearing that he had offended, he said 
placatingly: “He'p yo'self to sqerril, Miss Du- 
pree; an' have some b'iled onions; they sets 
handy to you." 

Cecil observed closely, and tried to conform to 
the farm table etiquette. But the lack of refine- 
ment repelled her, and she suffered great depres- 
sion of spirit. 

After supper, when the evening chores were 
finished, the family adjourned to the veranda, 
and seated themselves in the stiff cowhide chairs. 
Mrs. Scoggins was very friendly toward Cecil. 
She pressed the girl to take a dip of snuff, and 
then asked her countless questions, more or less 


68 Comedy of Petty Conflicts 

personal and intimate. The Scoggins girls sat 
like mutes, making “sheep eyes” at the men, who 
stalked out, one after another, in their hickory 
striped shirtsleeves. 

Cecil longed for the hour when she could say 
good-night, and go to her room. She wished to 
be alone, and to consider her plans for the future. 
She must struggle with herself, overcome her 
feelings of disappointment, and try to adapt her- 
self to circumstances. 

When the clock struck nine, Mrs. Scoggins 
arose. “Miss Cecil,” she said, “you will sleep in 
the shed room with Ma'y Ann — jist the two of 
you. We moved out Rose an’ Lizabeth’s bed 
, smornin\” 

At this distressing information Cecil bit her 
lip and gave the speaker a marble look. “Impos- 
sible!” she said to herself, and then gazed ap- 
pealingly at her ponderous bedfellow, who was 
lighting a smoky hand lamp. 

“Come right on, Miss Cecil,” called Mrs. Scog- 
gins, leading the way. 

When in the cheerless apartment Cecil saw no 
kind of accommodations, and inquired for the 
bathroom. 

“Sakes alive!” exclaimed the hostess, “that 
sort o’ things b’longs to rich folks. But you'll 
find the foot tub and wash basin out on the back 
porch, an' the comb on the mantel shelf in my 
room. I allays keep eva’thing handy.” 

“Thank you,” replied Cecil, in a voice from 
which all joy had flown; “I have my toilet arti- 
cles with me.” 

“Well, good-night. We have breakfast by 


Comedy of Petty Conflicts 69 

candle light afo’ the girls go to the cowp’n, so 
that the men folks can git to work early. They 
has a pow’ful long ways to go to the tuppentine 
’oods.” 

The night passed wearily for Cecil, as she lay 
beside the hot, fleshy form of Mary Ann, whose 
breath was a strange commingling of snuff and 
onions. Vainly Cecil struggled with what she 
feared was false pride. She told herself that the 
training of these illiterate human beings was 
more important than her own personal comfort; 
that in this isolated region she had found a vine- 
yard for philanthropic deeds ; that she would find 
her compensation when she had made cultured 
men and women of crude boys and girls. She 
prayed for strength to persevere; but again the 
day’s experience arose before her vision. 

“I must — I will control myself,” she finally re- 
solved, “or I cannot hope to control others. But 
I cannot live here. I will move to the village to- 
morrow.” Then, despite Mary Ann’s noisy slum- 
bers, the weary girl dropped to sleep. 

Before the first flush of dawn Cecil was dis- 
turbed by the tumultuous blast of a horn. 

“Merciful heaven!” she cried, “what can it 
be?” 

“It’s the gittin’ up ho’n,” giggled Mary Ann. 
“It’s time to dress fo’ breakfast. But wait tell I 
strike a light.” The big girl bounced out of bed, 
and was soon throwing on her garments. When 
half dressed, with shoes in her hand, she sallied 
forth to the porch, there to perform the exercises 
of the bathroom. 

“Will you kindly bring me a basin of water, 


70 Comedy of Petty Conflicts 

Miss Scoggins?” asked Cecil, in tones of genu- 
ine distress. 

“All right, ma’arm ; but you can't git the towel 
’thout you come to it, 'cause it's on the roller, an' 
ma won’t let nobody take it down.” 

“Never mind about ma and the towel,” re- 
joined Cecil, with a shiver of disgust, for she had 
memories of a dirty rag suspended from the wall 
and used by the entire family, farm hands in- 
cluded. 

Very soon Mary Ann returned, bearing a small 
tin basin of water and a piece of homemade soap, 
both of which she placed on a clothes chest. Then 
she timidly proceeded to admire Cecil’s toilet 
case. 

“You got a true — true teeth bresh, eh, Miss 
Cecil? I allays scrubs my teeth with a snuff 
bresh. Le' me try yo’nt. I neva did try a store 
bought un.” 

“No, indeed!” cried Cecil. Then she checked 
herself, for Mary Ann had dipped the brush in 
the basin of water, and was scrubbing away on 
her teeth. 

“You may have it for your own, Miss Scog- 
gins. I have another one,” said Cecil pleasantly, 
suppressing a smile. 


Comedy of Petty Conflicts 


7i 


CHAPTER XI. 

JACK SANDERS. 

Campville is situated at an altitude of four 
hundred feet, among the pine-clad hills of North 
Carolina. Its distinguishing characteristics are 
its extreme isolation and its healthful climate. 
The air has a stimulating freshness, and is 
freighted with the aromatic smell of the pines. 
Malaria is unknown, and pulmonary troubles are 
supposed to be impossible in this region. The 
winters are similar to those of Southern France 
or Northern Italy. The place is occasionally pat- 
ronized by tourists in search of health or utter 
seclusion. Campville has one long, narrow street, 
a few residences built on either side, a postoffice, 
two stores, and a county schoolhouse situated on 
the outskirts. In the peaceful stillness of an an- 
tiquated graveyard, overshadowed by somber 
trees, stands a time-worn chapel. Its lofty, old- 
fashioned pulpit, square pews and dingy walls 
have registered the flight of nearly two centu- 
ries. 

The “Robbins House,” recommended by Mr. 
Scoggins, proved to be a typical country board- 
ing house, which gave Campville quite an air of 
distinction. Among the villagers it was an un- 
failing topic for conversation, and a cud for scan- 


72 Comedy of Petty Conflicts 

dal mongers. An arrival there created a sensa- 
tion throughout the community. 

Cecil made her home in the Robbins House, 
and at once took up her work in the midst of the 
crude townspeople, at a small salary. She in- 
tended to begin at what she judged to be the 
foundation of successful teaching, omitting a 
formidable code of rules and regulations. Inex- 
perienced as she was, she still depended on her 
feminine intuition to understand the strange as- 
sortment of human beings who would be under 
her tutelage, and to guide her aright in her efforts 
to awaken these creatures from their lethargy of 
indifference and ignorance. 

When the girl first entered the rustic school- 
house she gazed upon her pupils in astonishment. 
The speech of kindly encouragement with which 
she had intended to greet them, as a class of chil- 
dren, was clearly inappropriate, for many of the 
twenty-eight assembled were adults. 

“Good-morning, ” called the teacher cheerily, 
as she paused upon the threshold. “I am glad to 
see all of you here on time.” 

“We all been yeah sence fust sun up,” replied 
one tall girl, less bashful than the others. For 
in remote country places the patrons of schools 
imagine that their children are neglected if they 
do not insist upon their spending the entire day 
in school. 

Cecil at once went to her desk and surveyed 
her pupils pleasantly. A crowd of robust and 
sturdy lads and lassies they were, save for a few 
pallid clay eaters. Many of them had never worn 
a shoe, but displayed huge bare feet, every toe 


Comedy of Petty Conflicts 73 

standing apart in gigantic development. On 
each side of the walls, dinner pails were suspend- 
ed from nails. Sunbonnets were heaped on a 
table, and an armful of hickory switches were 
placed in an orderly bunch on the teacher's desk. 

The pupils sat in profound silence, gaping in 
wonder at Miss Dupree. There was an awkward 
pause, during which they simultaneously wrung 
their fingers, or cracked their knuckles. The 
children of the village, neat and trim, gathered 
around the teacher, and to emphasize their su- 
periority they tittered, or cast disdainful glances 
at their country cousins. 

Cecil commenced by examining the books pre- 
viously used by the scholars. She found nothing 
more ambitious than Webster's “blue book" and 
Carpenter's spelling books. Mary Ann Scog- 
gins, who posed among her compeers as a sopho- 
more, sat apart wrestling with the long words in 
“Peter Parley's History." 

“These books are absolutely worthless," said 
the teacher earnestly, “we must have others." 

“Can't," spoke Jack Sanders, the “terror" of 
the school. “Pa says them’s done paid fo', an' 
ef we l'a'n all what's in 'em we'll know 'nough." 

At this a double-jointed fellow, with red hair 
and countless freckles, arose and offered his ad- 
vice. “Please, ma'arm, don't listen to nothin' 
Jack Sanders is got to say. He's allays run our 
other schools 'cordin' to his own likin', but please 
gracious, he ain't a goin' to run this un — not ef 
Tom Ellis is in it." 

“Silence!" called the teacher. 

“I'll fix yo' fo' that, Tom Ellis, you speckled 


74 Comedy of Petty Conflicts 

face wata’melon t’ief !” came from Jack Sanders’ 
corner of the room. 

Then Nancy Davis, a matronly looking girl of 
serene countenance and pale eyes, began to ex- 
plain in a squeaky voice the cause of hostilities. 
“T’other teacher we had was a citimun,” she said, 
“an’ he had sech a knock-down an’ drag out time 
with the scholars that he swa’ he wouldn’t keep 
school here no mo’, ’thout he toted a brace o’ 
pistols. An’ he usen to take his’n out, an’ lay it 
on his desk afo’ he started to keep school o’ 
mornins.” 

“But he was skeered o’ Jack Sanders,” shouted 
“Bully” Scoggins, from his perch in the chimney 
corner. “Jack Sanders licked all the teachers we 
ever had yit, but 1 bet he couldn’t lick me.” 

“ ’Cause I was a lickin’ post fo’ them,” be- 
gan the accused ; but, meeting the calm, stead- 
fast eyes of his teacher, he ducked his head un- 
der his desk, in order to conceal the corncob pipe 
that he was smoking. 

“Strong will, which will revolt against au- 
thority; and one that cannot be forced into obe- 
dience,” was Cecil’s mental comment. 

“Jack Sanders and Sam Hopkins took our fust 
teacher by the legs, run ’im up the chimbly, an’ 
cleaned it out with ’im,” ventured a stolid look- 
ing maiden. 

“When Pa’sin Newton was a preachin’ a pow’- 
ful good preach in this very schoolhouse on a 
Sunday, Jack Sanders rode a ox through, a mile 
a minute,” piped a small boy. 

“I kin tell you wuss than that,” began still 


Comedy of Petty Conflicts 75 

another pupil. But a loud rap on the desk cut 
short the eager speakers. 

“If there are any more charges against Mr. 
Sanders, kindly excuse me from hearing them, ,, 
spoke the teacher, with severe dignity. 

“Goodt!” cheered Jack Sanders, in a stage 
whisper, as he snapped his fingers in the face 
of one complainant, and threw spitballs at the 
others. 

With determination and a genial smile Cecil, 
although somewhat dismayed, began her duties. 


76 


Comedy of Petty Conflicts 


CHAPTER XII. 

THE spinster is reconciled. 

The Wendells’ housekeeping proved a compli- 
cation of petty disasters to Rupert; and for his 
inexperienced wife a daily routine of trials. The 
young man marveled at Theo’s unlimited for- 
bearance, her wonderful tact, and the gentle 
grace with which she handled almost impossible 
situations. He pronounced her an angel, and 
himself a reprobate reclaimed by her celestial in- 
fluence. But he did not fully realize how many 
hardships she assumed in order to spare him the 
worry and annoyance caused by the misdoings of 
servants, until some startling occurrence brought 
him to a full knowledge of her sacrifices. Then 
he decided that he and his wife would take their 
meals at the Windsor Hotel, which was directly 
across the street. 

“Now, my pet, we will enjoy life,” said Wen- 
dell. “Never again shall you be subjected to 
menial responsibilities. You are not very strong, 
and you must be cared for tenderly.” 

“Ah, but shall we not yearn for the privacy of 
our happy hours at meal times, dearest?” pro- 
tested Tlieo. 

“Our joys shall never diminish, sweet one. Of 
course we shall miss the privileges we enjoyed 


Comedy of Petty Conflicts 77 

in our own dining room. I do so fully appreci- 
ate all that our home means to us. But wherever 
we may go, I shall always find my home in your 
presence, my own darling. In a faultless wife a 
man has everything he desires; and nothing 
should tempt him beyond the portals of his do- 
mestic paradise.” 

“I am not faultless, Rupert. But should the 
day ever come when we do discern faults in each 
other, let us help each other by correcting them, 
dear.” 

“I fear that my Theo would grow weary in the 
good work upon her hubby’s many imperfections, 
while he would find none to correct in his wife.” 

“Ah, you know what I think about that!” 
cried Theo, throwing her arms about him. 

“Well,” he responded with a laugh, “I wish 
that Miss Flintof had as good an opinion of me 
as you have. It might reconcile matters, and that 
would please my little one.” 

“There is hope. Aunt Charlotte’s last letter 
was not nearly so severe as usual. Oh, I know 
that she would forgive us if she could realize 
how much we love each other, and how happy 
we are together.” 

Rupert looked doubtful. 

But, in fact, Miss Flintof was softening slight- 
ly. She had begun to miss Theo painfully ; how- 
ever, it was not easy for her, under the circum- 
stances, to acknowledge this fact even to herself. 
At first she could not be reasoned with, nor com- 
forted. Theo’s daily visits, her streaming eyes, 
and attitude of sweet humility failed to thaw the 
spinster’s icy front. She would listen to the peni- 


78 Comedy of Petty Conflicts 

tent's expressions of sorrow with scathing for- 
mality, taking note of the fact that Theo could 
not be induced to say one word of regret for 
having married Wendell. Theo bore it all pa- 
tiently, for she remembered that the lonely wom- 
an had given her a mother's tender care ; and 
while deprecating her aunt’s eccentricity, she 
knew of the older woman’s many noble, kindly 
acts among friends and neighbors during trouble 
or sickness. She knew that Miss Flintof’s mouldy 
complexion, Roman nose and greenish, pene- 
trating eyes were not an unwelcome sight among 
the town's wives; who, while they often resented 
in their hearts her officious habit of turning a 
searchlight on their husbands' morals, tolerated 
her for her better qualities and a certain irre- 
sistible native wit. And these wives knew, too, 
that the very thought of the spinster caused many 
a Benedict to hasten home, when tempted to lin- 
ger elsewhere. Those who posed as model hus- 
bands and consistent churchmen could not afford 
to defy her rigid rules of propriety. 

The estrangement between Miss Flintof and 
her niece had wounded the spinster more deeply 
than she had deemed possible, for her devotion to 
Theo was sincere. After long mental debate the 
unhappy woman resolved to pardon the offense 
in Theo; but in Wendell, “never — no, never!" 

“That man shall not longer rejoice in this 
painful separation," declared Miss Flintof, as if 
to cover what might seem a weakening in the 
stand she had taken. 

She felt pity, mingled with contempt, for the 
affectionate Theo as a wife, and she condemned 


Comedy of Petty Conflicts 79 

the very name of “honeymoon.” When the legiti- 
mate length of time usually assigned to that pe- 
riod had passed, Miss Flintof became more gra- 
cious to her niece, tolerated her visits, and later 
encouraged them. 

When Theo told her aunt that she and her hus- 
band intended to escape some of the difficulties 
of housekeeping by taking their meals at the 
Windsor, Miss Flintof pointed her bony finger 
and said bluntly : 

“Don’t do it ; don’t throw that fellow you have 
married in the way of temptation. He will make 
you rue it, mark what I say. Allow him no lati- 
tude. He has only good looks to commend him, 
but they are enough for those highfliers at the 
Windsor.” 

“Only good looks!” repeated Theo timidly. 
“Oh, Aunt Charlotte, if you only knew Rupert’s 
worth ! He is the noblest man living, and one 
that temptation could never ” 

“Experience will come to you later,” inter- 
rupted the spinster acridly, “and when it does, I 
will heap coals of fire on your head for your 
disobedience to my command. Leave me now, 
child; mocking memories of my own injuries are 
still bitter.” 

Theo did not understand the look of pain on 
her aunt’s face. She did not know that she had 
innocently reopened a wound in a heart that had 
suffered from treachery and desertion. The 
young wife hurried away, distressed by what she 
conceived to be hard-heartedness. But when she 
told her husband of the incident she became more 
enlightened. 


8o Comedy of Petty Conflicts 

“Yes,” drawled Wendell, “there is a reason for 
your aunt’s severity in these matters. I’ve for- 
gotten just how the story goes, but long ago a 
dashing young adventurer made love to her. They 
became engaged. In his fascinating way he con- 
fessed his poverty, and in her confiding love she 
endowed him with half of her fortune, 'to estab- 
lish a business,’ she said ; and also to prepare for 
their honeymoon trip, which was to have been a 
tour into the East Indies. Miss Flintof made 
elaborate preparations for the approaching nup- 
tials, and he purchased the wedding ring. She 
arrayed herself as became a blushing bride, 
donned the orange blossoms, and awaited her 
husband-elect. She is still waiting,” he con- 
cluded, with mock solemnity, as a smile of en- 
joyment slowly overspread his face. 

Theo raised her hands in horror. “What be- 
came of the groom?” she asked. 

“He, with the coveted cash, took unto himself 
a young wife, proceeded on his wedding tour, 
and has never returned.” 

“Poor Aunt Charlotte!” groaned Theo. “Why, 
Rupert, how can you laugh at anything so dis- 
tressing ?” 


Comedy of Petty Conflicts 


8i 


CHAPTER XIII. 

THE FRUGATZA. ' 

The gaiety of the Windsor brought no added 
pleasure into Theo’s life. At meal times she 
missed the atmosphere of home. The twilight 
hour, which had belonged to love’s tryst, was 
given to the noisy babble of the hotel veranda. 
Wendell’s active temperament and fun-loving dis- 
position began to crave excitement. Proudly he 
presented his wife to his wide circle of friends. 
Invitations were extended — society opened its 
doors to the dainty beauty. Theo received these 
advances graciously, although she shrank from 
the scrutiny to which they subjected her. She 
longed for the retirement of her home, and the 
quiet happiness of its life, with no companion- 
ship save the all-satisfying presence of her hus- 
band. 

Young Wendell’s charm of manner and per- 
sonal magnetism made him a great favorite in 
society, and many feminine wiles were used to 
draw him from the side of his young wife. Theo 
calmly watched her husband’s increasing popu- 
larity, and the easy grace with which he filled 
the place of honor. She tried to rejoice in his 
triumphs, and she could not understand why they 
brought her no gratification. With a strange 


82 Comedy of Petty Conflicts 

feeling of unrest, she marveled at what seemed 
to her a lack of womanly dignity and reserve 
among unconventional society women. She was 
not in touch with their ambitions, nor the false 
pride and rivalry among them. She was wanting 
in that spirit of independence and liberty of ac- 
tion which appeal to men. 

There was a bevy of young women at the 
hotel, among whom Wendell soon became indis- 
pensable. This Miss Flintof watched and specu- 
lated upon with secret satisfaction. A time would 
come when Wendell should rue the wrong he had 
done her. She often spent her evenings at the 
Windsor among the older women, while Wendell 
and his wife were induced to linger with the 
youthful merry-makers. 

At length Theo’s delicate health placed her in 
the unenviable position of “wallflower.” She was 
entertained by ancient dames, who whispered be- 
hind their fans, while her husband was captured 
by some fresh, defiant damsel, or irresistible 
grass widow. Her heart questioned, “Will his 
love for me ever grow cold?” and her lips re- 
plied, “No, never!” But in the awakening of 
her jealous fears she felt herself powerless to 
eclipse her rivals; and however much she tried 
to temporize, her sweet eyes grew anxious, and 
her manner abstracted. The difference between 
her ideas of pleasure and those of her husband 
created mental confusion of right and wrong, 
and removed his life from hers. What to her 
seemed infidelity was to him lawful liberty, sanc- 
tioned by society; and that which barred her 
flow of happiness opened the sluices to his own. 


Comedy of Petty Conflicts 83 

This Miss Flintof's sharp eyes detected, and she 
fired menacing glances at the offending Wendell. 
But he was innocent of intentional wrong, and 
failed to understand. With meek forbearance 
Theo suffered long before her woman's heart 
cried out for relief. 

Marcella Frugatza, a picturesque Italian 
beauty, who was divorced from her husband, 
lived at the Windsor. A woman of Bohemian 
habits, she scoffed at old school propriety, and 
acknowledged her admiration for Mrs. Wen- 
dell’s husband. Diligently she tried to win him 
from her rivals among the girls, regardless of 
the agony she inflicted upon the sad-eyed wife. 
She declared that unmarried men had little at- 
traction for her, and that the only man whose at- 
tention was worth winning was the one who in- 
spired universal admiration. 

Wendell seemed to be the last to understand 
that he was a favorite with this woman. In his 
courteous way he acknowledged her fascination, 
and was drawn to her side more frequently than 
he realized. Never having had cause to suffer 
the poignant pangs of jealousy, he failed to rec- 
ognize the symptoms in others. When his wife's 
telltale face appealed to him, he would mentally 
assign a physical cause to her indisposition. With 
tender solicitude he would make love to her, and 
then, as a humming bird, pass on to another 
honey laden flower. 

In a secluded corner of the hotel veranda, 
where the moonbeams filtered uncertainly 
through the vines, a hammock swung. It was 
Madam Frugatza's favorite retreat. She was an 


84 Comedy of Petty Conflicts 

adept in those small arts which attract and mon- 
opolize unsuspecting man ; and Wendell was no 
exception to the rule. When Theo heard the 
Italian beauty in dulcet tones entice Wendell into 
the commodious receptacle for loungers, she was 
not surprised by his lack of resistance. The 
charitable wife laid the fault where she felt it 
belonged, and pronounced “dear Rupert” blame- 
less. 

“It is a favor seldom granted,” said Madam 
Frugatza, in her slow rich tones, “but you are to 
be admitted for a twilight call each evening.” 

Wendell’s reply was lost in the laughing voices 
around, but he took the charming woman’s arm, 
and together they walked to the hammock, set- 
tling themselves snugly. 

“Shameless viper, that Italian!” Miss Flintof 
scathingly remarked, as the couple passed her. 
“What is Wendell thinking of?” 

“Me, of course!” smilingly replied the daunt- 
less Marcella, glancing over her shoulder. 

Miss Flintof bristled with fury, but the objects 
of her anger were now beyond her hearing. 

Theo choked back a sob of bitterness as her 
eyes strayed to the hammock. As a nervous pa- 
tient in a dentist’s chair, she clutched the arms 
of the one in which she sat. “I must endure it 
— but how can I?” was her mental cry of pain. 

Miss Flintof watched the forlorn Theo with 
a heart throb of sympathy. She understood the 
young wife’s anguish, and her resolute nature 
longed for action. She arose and paced the ver- 
anda with soft, measured tread. Suddenly there 
was a jarflng sound, a feminine scream, and 


Comedy of Petty Conflicts 85 

Madam Frugatza and Wendell found themselves 
in an undignified heap on the floor. In the sen- 
sation which followed they became unpleasantly 
conspicuous. 

“Upon examination/’ said an animated ob- 
server, “it becomes evident that a ghost severed 
the hammock rope.” 

Miss Flintof stood by with a bland smile, en- 
joying the embarrassment of the victims of the 
episode. She averred that it was a judgment sent 
upon the shameless couple for their vulgar disre- 
gard of propriety. Shortly after this Wendell 
took his wife home. 

“Proper place for them,” mumbled Miss Flin- 
tof, as she walked to her own husbandless abode. 
Her prayer that night was that she might have 
divine assistance in checking wrong, to the ad- 
vancement and reformation of the pagan world. 

Another favorite pastime in which Madam 
Frugatza engaged Wendell’s attention was at the 
gaming table. Many an evening the two sat 
apart from others, mingling their laughter with 
the click of ivory chips. The Madam, while dis- 
tracting Wendell’s attention from the game, 
never lost sight of her points, and invariably 
won. Miss Flintof condemned these proceedings 
as criminal, and Theo pleaded with her husband 
not to invite the evil influence of the gambling 
propensity. With a haughty smile on her sensual 
lips the Frugatza ignored Miss Flintof ’s pro- 
tests, and she patted Theo’s cheek patronizingly. 

“You innocent little mouse!” she laughed. 
“There, there, don’t trouble your small head 
about things you do not understand. Eric!” 


86 Comedy of Petty Conflicts 

raising her lustrous eyes and beckoning to one 
of her admirers, "take this child to the music 
room. Some one is singing from ‘Robert/ She 
dotes on music! Five dollars, Sir Rupert! Ah, 
ha! You call? I win.” 

At such times Theo would blush, and endeavor 
to look severely at the woman; but one glance 
into the bold black orbs, and her own pure eyes 
became downcast, and the pink wave grew deeper 
as it lingered on her pale face. 

Theo noted her husband's increasing intimacy 
with the defiant beauty, and the knowledge of it 
was agony untold. She gave herself to gloomy 
silence and bitter apprehension. 

One evening when Wendell escorted his wife 
to the veranda, and then went to keep an en- 
gagement with Frugatza, could he have seen the 
misery on his wife's face perhaps he would have 
retraced his steps. But he did not look back. 
Instead, he hurried forward, with masculine curi- 
osity as to what the evening would bring forth in 
the company of the piquant madam, who drank 
tokay with the relish of a Hungarian, and con- 
sumed cocktails as naturally as other women 
drink tea; who rode horseback astride, clad in 
bloomers that showed off her finely developed 
form in a most pleasing manner to the masculine 
gaze. 

With burning eyes Theo watched the stair- 
way for her husband's return. Jealousy made 
tormenting suggestions to her mind, lengthening 
moments into an eternity before the object of her 
thoughts reappeared. He held Madam Fru- 


Comedy of Petty Conflicts 87 

gatza’s arm familiarly, and lingered with her at 
the foot of the stairs. 

“How very near his face is to hers ! How Ru- 
pert smiles into her eyes as he listens to her 
words ! What an elegantly developed form, 
what plump and shapely limbs! And he, my 
husband, admiring them! Oh, merciful God!” 
The frenzied wife arose from her chair, and 
unconsciously advanced a step toward Wendell 
and his companion. In extreme nervousness she 
twisted and wrung her scarf through fingers 
which had grown chill with suffering. She tried 
to call out — to speak the words, “Rupert, hus- 
band !” But her trembling voice was unheard in 
the chatter of those around her. Her throat be- 
came dry with a choking sensation. 

Miss Flintof approached, and saw her niece’s 
despairing attitude. “Are you ill, Theo?” she 
asked. “Shall I call your husband to take you 
home ?” 

“Yes, if — you — please,” gasped Theo in des- 
peration, struggling to escape from the Avernus 
which seemed to surround her. 

The spinster sped away on her errand of mer- 
cy to perform another act toward the reforma- 
tion of the pagan world. 

“Madam,” she hissed to the Frugatza, “you 
are detaining Mrs. Wendell’s husband.” Then 
she turned fiercely on Wendell. “Go !” she com- 
manded. “Your gross immorality is killing your 
poor, neglected wife!” As she spoke her finger 
dangled in startling proximity to his nose, and 
involuntarily he drew back. 

Madam, in her low, musical tones, laughed 


88 Comedy of Petty Conflicts 

mockingly. “Hyena, or mother-in-law ?” she 
questioned. “She comes at us as if shot from a 
cannon. And her closely clinging creation bears 
out the poetic impression.” 

“There is no gun of sufficient force to make 
an impression on an object so brassy and im- 
modest as you are, woman!” retorted Miss Flin- 
tof. “And as for you, sir,” turning fiercely on 
Wendell, “Beware! The crisis must come, and 
when it does I’ll make you lick the dust! Right 
must conquer, and the weak will slay the strong, 
as David slew Goliath!” 

Madam raised her lorgnette, and regarded the 
bristling spinster. “Wasn’t the poor giant slain 
by a rubber sling — or was it the jaw of an ass?” 
she asked sweetly. Then she laughed again. 
“Dear Sir Rupert, you would better go. I see 
your debonair plumage of independence is wilt- 
ing. Good-night. Oh, Eric, so delighted you 
chanced along. I’m dying for a caviar.” And 
she floated serenely toward the dining room, on 
the arm of another admirer. 

Theo gave a sigh of relief as she entered her 
own home that night. She brought her husband’s 
slippers and cigar, made him comfortable in his 
easy chair, and then almost forgot her griev- 
ances. But Wendell was silent and moody for 
the remainder of the evening. In vain the af- 
fectionate girl nestled beside him, stroked his 
face, toyed with his curly hair; he returned her 
caresses in an impassive manner, without a spark 
of the olden ardor. Her heart sank within her, 
but she waited and hoped that each moment 
would reawaken her husband’s warmth of feel- 


Comedy of Petty Conflicts 89 

in g, and give him back to her longing arms as 
she would have him. But when the silence of 
midnight came, and he slumbered soundly beside 
her, the smouldering fires within her breast could 
no longer be subdued. She timidly reached for 
his hand, then shook him gently. 

“Hubby, darling, don’t you love me any 
more ?” 

The quick throbbing of her heart was the only 
response that broke the stillness. 

Another and a more vigorous shake. 

“Answer me, dearest, my poor heart is break- 
ing because of those horrid women. Oh, Ru- 
pert, speak to me!” she almost sobbed. 

Wendell stirred in his sleep, and in the dim 
moonlight Theo saw his lips move. She bent 
anxiously to catch his words. 

“Yes, Marcella — sweetheart, I would give you 
all my love were I — were I ” 

With a bound Theo was out of bed, and stood 
panting in the middle of the floor, a beautiful, 
accusing victim of the green-eyed monster. Her 
leap aroused the unsuspecting husband, who, in 
the indiscretion of slumber, had revealed his 
secret. Believing Theo to be in some peril, he 
sprang to her rescue. But she was frenzied with 
rage, and darted from his outstretched arms, 
hurling an avalanche of accusation upon him. 
Unable to grasp the situation, Wendell stood be- 
fore her in bewilderment, his snowy nightrobe 
lending him the appearance of a priest in celes- 
tial garb. 

“I do not understand your ravings; what is 


go Comedy of Petty Conflicts 

wrong ?” he asked during a temporary lull in the 
fermentation of love and jealousy. 

“Giving the affection of your heart to that 
Italian woman!” screamed Theo, through an- 
other gush of tears, which fell like an April 
shower over her rose and lily face. 

When, at length, she made him understand the 
import of his drowsy confession, he said ve- 
hemently, “Why, how absurd! You yourself 
have been dreaming. I never gave utterance to 
any such insane sentiment!” 

After a rather unsatisfactory explanation 
Wendell persuaded his wife to return to their 
couch. He petted her in a lukewarm way, tell- 
ing her she was nervous, and recommending her 
to go to sleep. He decided that his wife must be 
safely launched in dreamland before he again 
indulged in the luxury of sleep; and as that was 
impossible for her, he faithfully kept his night 
watch, wild thoughts running riot through his 
weary brain. 


Comedy of Petty Conflicts 


9i 


CHAPTER XIV. 

a profligate's protection. 

The next morning breakfast was ordered sent 
from the hotel. Theo’s chilling dignity and sor- 
rowing aspect bespoke the injured wife, and 
there was a famine of caresses. She meant to 
teach her spouse a severe lesson. But evidently 
it was lost upon him. Breakfast over, he walked 
out whistling, banging the door after him. Then 
Theo threw aside the mask. 

“No — good-bye — kiss !” she sobbed, as her 
head sank upon the table, regardless of the fact 
that her amber tresses were partly in the gravy 
dish. Tears, the panacea for feminine woes, fell 
splashing on the tablecloth, and the young wife’s 
pretty face, for the time, was distorted and ugly. 
Her soul was shaken as by a tempest, and then 
she began to assume the blame for all the trouble. 
After the penance of tears, sobs and groans, her 
heart hungered for caresses, her stricken soul 
thirsted for the refreshing dews of love. So she 
went to the desk and wrote an humble confession 
of her own folly. 

“You thought me faultless, dear hubby — alas! 
that so soon I should reveal the despicable fail- 
ing, jealousy,” etc. 

“Go quickly, and wait for an answer,” she 


92 Comedy of Petty Conflicts 

said, placing the letter in the hands of a colored 
serving boy. And then she glanced at the clock. 

“A whole hour of suspense,” she sighed, be- 
fore his precious missive of peace and pardon 
will come.” 

The hour dragged by, and finally the boy shuf- 
fled in, embarrassed and grinning. 

“ Where is the reply to my letter?” his mis- 
tress demanded hysterically. 

“Mars Ruput ain't gi' me nuttin; he say he 
didn't had time to wrote you, an' 'e can't git yer 
fo' lunch ; but will be yer six o'clock dis ebenin', 
sho.” 

Long and lonely was the day for Theo. Books, 
music, and every other diversion proved distaste- 
ful to her. In the afternoon she arrayed herself 
in a bewitching costume of delicate blue and 
filmy lace, which she well knew would enhance 
her blonde beauty. She endeavored to shake off 
the mental depression which she suffered, but 
her misgivings had fatally marred the sunshine 
of her life. 

At sunset, with a feeling of unrest, but happy 
in anticipating her husband’s coming, she took 
her old stand at the window, there to watch for 
him as she had done in the honeymoon days, 
fourteen months ago, when she had fancied her- 
self the one immovable star in the shifting hori- 
zon of man's devotion. 

Time passed unheeded, while in her hopeful 
reverie she pictured her husband alone in his 
office, yearning for her with the same heart hun- 
ger which she felt for him; and she foresaw a 
reconciliation never again to be marred by doubt. 


Comedy of Petty Conflicts 93 

The stroke of the clock brought her back from 
dreamland. 

“What ! seven o’clock!” she exclaimed, “and 
Rupert not here? Oh, dear, dear!” Her smile 
faded into a look of anxiety, and again she turned 
to the window. 

“I must be patient,” she said to herself, recall- 
ing her good resolutions. Then the opposite side 
of the question arose, and she held battle royal 
with her absent foe. 

“Oh, for more independence of spirit than I 
possess,” she sighed. “My timid and reserved 
nature bars me from my rights. Oh, that I had 
the courage of my aunt! How, with only a look, 
would I annihilate that hateful Marcella! I 
cannot understand how Rupert can fancy the 
companionship of a woman so bold. But she ac- 
tually throws herself at him. Dear Rupert is 
blameless, for she tests his gallantry. I will as- 
sert myself in future, and foil her bold ad- 
vances.” 

Theo’s lips trembled, and curled in scorn. She 
shook her fist at the mental image of her danger- 
ous rival. She tried to forget that when in the 
enemy’s camp all such heroic resolutions would 
vanish. 

The clock chimed half-past seven. She tried 
to become interested in the street scene. Dash- 
ing carriages, bearing bright- faced, laughing oc- 
cupants, rolled by, heavy trucks thundered past 
with the same degree of interest for her. The 
promenading throng swept along unheeded. 
Again and again she turned restlessly to the 
clock, as though seeking inspiration or comfort. 


94 Comedy of Petty Conflicts 

Several times she walked uneasily around the 
room, only to return to the window. But the 
absent one came not. Like a misty veil, twilight 
fell. Theo strained her bright eyes looking into 
the distance, while her sad face pressed against 
the window pane. It was growing dark within 
the room, but in mute agony the wife faithfully 
kept her tryst. At length she mufmured in 
broken accents: 

“Our first — day — of — separation ! Oh, Rupert, 
you are punishing me, love, while in your office 
alone your suffering is as intense as mine. What 
shall I do?” 

She looked across the street. The Windsor 
was aglow with lights ; and in their brilliant glare 
she saw a tandem slowly wheel up to the hotel 
stoop. A man alighted, and then turned to as- 
sist his companion, a splendidly formed, grace- 
ful woman. 

“Rupert ! and that — creature !” groaned the dis- 
tracted wife, sinking into a chair, and covering 
her eyes with her trembling hands. 

Theo was no philosopher, and could not reason 
out the problem of some men’s mysterious mag- 
netism for women in general. She possessed a 
sensitive and emotional nature, and her concep- 
tion of life’s fulfilment was clear. Of the old- 
fashioned Puritan stock, her loftiest aspiration 
was to fill the sphere of wife and mother, and 
to be a faithful daughter of the church. 

For the moment her noble resolutions of the 
day were forgotten, while reviving jealousy in- 
terpreted indiscretion as crime. She then re- 
called the conflicts of the night previous, and 


Comedy of Petty Conflicts 95 

the result of her efforts to improve matters. In 
her weakness she feared to confront her husband 
with his profligate defiance of her will; so she 
sat dazed and helpless, striving to master her- 
self. 

“Suffer in silence, and die young !” whispered 
Despair, while blind Love made excuses for the 
guilty man. 

At that uncertain moment there was a familiar 
footstep, and a loved voice fell like sad music on 
her ears. Immediately Love grew eloquent, and 
introduced Hope, thus gaining a victory over 
Despair. 

“In darkness, my pet?” called Wendell cheer- 
ily. “I’m sorry to have kept you waiting, but was 
detained longer than I expected. Business,” he 
pleaded, with masculine disregard of truth. 

But Theo kept praiseworthy silence. Where 
had he been? There are questions that discreet 
and amiable wives do not ask. 

“Come, let’s go over and have our dinner, 
sweetheart,” said Wendell. 

“If you will excuse me, Rupert, I shall be 
grateful. I haven’t the least appetite, and pre- 
fer to retire early.” Her voice was strained and 
unnatural. 

“What’s the matter, Theo? Your hands are 
cold, darling. I will not go without you. I pre- 
fer the society of my wee wifie to the banquet of 
kings.” 

A guilty sensation made him self-sacrificing, 
and after a little indulgence in maudlin senti- 
ment, he struck the bell, and when the servant 


96 Comedy of Petty Conflicts 

entered he ordered “Dinner for two, from the 
Windsor.” 

This attention and his all-healing touch 
brought Theo to a serenely tranquil frame of 
mind, and she did not refer to last night’s offend- 
ing circumstances. 

For several successive evenings Wendell at- 
tended his club and political meetings. As they 
debarred him from feminine society, his wife 
was satisfied. But a week later Madam Marcella 
drew him into another wheeling escapade; and 
that was the coup de grace. Theo’s amiability de- 
serted her, and with a wail of distress she en- 
treated Wendell, for the sake of his unborn 
child, to spare her the sight of his unchecked in- 
fatuation. 

“Give me no more cause for pain,” she im- 
plored, winding her arms caressingly around his 
neck. “Hubby, darling, for your sake I would 
suffer adversity too great to estimate — even 
death at the stake were it necessary. But the 
torture of sharing your smiles, your attentions 
with other women — oh, spare me! I love you, 
dearest, that explains all. I’ve had enough of 
hotel life, and we must make other arrangements 
speedily. Aunt Charlotte says that we can take 
our meals with her until 

Wendell gave a warwhoop, and sprang from 
his chair, as if a lash had struck him. For a mo- 
ment he stood wild-eyed, and in hostile attitude. 
“We will not discuss it,” he said wrathfully; 
“anything but Aunt Charlotte, if you please.” 

For a moment he gnawed savagely at his mus- 
tache, while mentally revolving matters. He rec- 


Comedy of Petty Conflicts 97 

ognized in himself a free-thinker wedded to a 
saintly Christian, who studied ethics to her own 
detriment. She would ever be submissive to her 
spiritual adviser, Miss Flintof, through whose 
counsel and device he must continue to suffer 
persecution. His fertile brain conceived the idea 
that his former liberty of action was no more, 
and he must devise a plan by which to keep his 
wife in ignorance of his movements, as he con- 
tinued to increase in social prestige. He did not 
realize that his fancy had a roving tendency, 
which was anything but conducive to conjugal 
felicity. A jealous wife, tears and hysteria, he 
decided, were good things from which to get 
away. So, to avoid open rupture, he kept pace 
with his conclusion. 


98 


Comedy of Petty Conflicts 


CHAPTER XV. 

POPULARITY OF A BACHELOR PARSON. 

Campville was well represented about the post- 
office at noon. The event of the day was the ar- 
rival of the mail. While the loungers waited, 
they discussed crops and criticised their neigh- 
bors. The better class of villagers sat in their 
time-worn vehicles, lamenting the tardiness of 
the mail carrier, and later they made ostentatious 
display of a circular, or a county newspaper. 

The Reverend Harold Clayborn moved among 
these people with the assurance of a lord of the 
realm. Owing to the scarcity of eligible men in 
Campville, he enjoyed great popularity among 
all classes. He had recently received his call, 
and had come from an eastern city to fill his 
pastorate. He felt his advantages over these sim- 
ple country folk, and looked upon them with 
patronizing toleration, which sometimes was not 
unmixed with lofty contempt. But the reverend 
gentleman fairly reveled in the conquests made 
among the women of his parish ; and, like "Holy 
Willie,” he complacently appropriated to himself 
the homage which should have been passed on to 
the power he was supposed to represent. At the 
suggestion of the irresistible Clayborn, societies 
which had gone to pieces under the patriarchal 


Comedy of Petty Conflicts 99 

administration of veteran saints, sprang magic- 
ally to life. With one accord the women of 
Campville clothed themselves in the garb of 
righteousness, devoting most of their time and 
attention to church matters. 

“Mr. Clayborn is so darling,” was the fem- 
inine verdict. “Isn’t he a perfectly ideal min- 
ister — and so very modern! He is just the kind 
we long have needed to warm us up.” And the 
ladies told the truth about their temperature, for 
in the secret chambers of each maiden and spin- 
ster heart burned a smothered flame of love for 
its spiritual protector. The hope of being “the 
one” to find especial favor in his eyes shed its 
cheering rays into their devout souls; and as- 
piring mammas figured conspicuously in the 
competition. Clayborn smiled his approval, and 
smoked the cigars of husbands, fathers, broth- 
ers and sweethearts during private conferences 
with fair devotees in need of spiritual counsel. 
Pie possessed a fine sense of humor and a goodly 
share of world-flavored experience. He knew 
just where and when to rally his female follow- 
ers in their vehement endeavors to “boom” the 
cause of salvation. 

Clayborn was proficient at the card table — 
fairly doted on the “green,” was a keen judge of 
racehorses, and a connoisseur in sampling wines. 

Malvin, a well-to-do planter, and a man of 
prominence in Campville, was a vestryman of the 
church. He had one daughter, Mary, a veteran 
maiden, who had counted the harvest of forty 
crops. She was spare, sallow and angular. To 
a mirth-provoking degree she became enamored 


100 


Comedy of Petty Conflicts 


of the young minister. He slyly encouraged her 
pred i ction ; he praised her clever management 
in keeping the church treasury supplied with 
funds, and hinted that she would make a treas- 
ure of a wife for some fortunate man; that he 
preferred the society of a sensible woman, quali- 
fied for life’s duties, to that of a frivolous girl ; 
but, alas ! his profession demanded that he should 
show no partiality. He then looked pleadingly 
into Miss Mary’s honest gray eyes. 

Their color was so very like 
Unto her daddy’s pewter, 

As smilingly they said to him, 

"You are my favorite suitor.” 

Miss Mary also was clever. She taught the 
clergyman to depend upon her support in church 
affairs; she drove him about in her old-fash- 
ioned phaeton ; in his honor she gave frequent 
mild, uneventful teas, at which he was "the” 
man, and she studied his vagaries of appetite. 
In short, she revealed to him, by her estimable 
virtues, what an ideal wife should be. When 
Cupid’s arrow pierces a spinster’s heart it takes 
the form of a corkscrew, which turns her brain 
as well as her heart. 

Now, Clayborn’s hobby was horseflesh, and 
he rode often. Riding, therefore, became a 
craze among the females. Miss Malvin, who 
had never before placed a horse in an awk- 
ward position, attempted to develop her eques- 
trian ability. In a long green habit, of ancestral 
cut, she made her appearance on a sleepy old 


Comedy of Petty Conflicts 


ioi 


farmhorse. All trembling and cautious, she 
clung to the horn of her saddle with one hand, 
and to the rear of it with the other, her face dis- 
torted in an agony of apprehension. Two long 
ropes were attached, one to the right bridle ring, 
and the other to the left one; and two boys, one 
on each side of the narrow street, led the lazy 
beast along. Traffic was suspended while she 
passed down the line. 

Now, Cecil Dupree's influence was beginning 
to be felt in Campville and the adjacent country. 
The strength and sincerity of her personality 
made a lasting impression on the sluggish com- 
munity, and produced favorable results. When 
the young girl had been in Campville for a sea- 
son a church festival was given. Blue blood 
and riffraff were commingled indiscriminately 
for the occasion. Financially the riffraff was in- 
dispensable. 

It was Cecil's debut into Campville society, 
and by request she presided at a refreshment 
table. Cheerfully she directed her energies to- 
ward making both a social and financial success 
of the evening. Unassuming, and as natural as 
a child, she commanded the admiration of all 
present. Her charming ease of manner ban- 
ished reserve, and stimulated community of in- 
terest. At the close of the evening she sang a 
sweet, simple melody. Her voice was superb, 
and Clayborn was so delighted that he requested 
the ladies of his choir to invite her to join them. 
But his fair admirers met his request with an 
uplifting of the eyebrows, and low murmured 
disapproval; so he was constrained to resign the 


102 


Comedy of Petty Conflicts 


hope. The women feared a rival in this beauti- 
ful, blooming girl, and they kept close watch on 
Clayborn. 

But for all their watching and gratuitous at- 
tention Clayborn managed to hang about Cecil 
a great deal that evening, while the other women 
fluttered about, clucking like anxious hens, 
whose duckling has found water. Clayborn was 
fascinated by the cultured little lady. He had 
kept all Campville intimidated by his wonderful 
store of knowledge. When he advanced a the- 
ory he was never disputed. He was piqued to 
find that Cecil met him on equal ground, con- 
tested his opinions, and politely flouted his ego- 
tism. And presently he began to realize that the 
girl's general information equaled his own, and 
that she was a more profound thinker. Fur- 
thermore, her sincerity tore the mask from his 
pretensions. This irritated him, but compelled 
his respect. 

In appreciation of his unparalleled wisdom the 
people of Campville had elected Clayborn a trus- 
tee of the county school. His supervision, they 
said, would promote the most exalted results, and 
insure the only form of discipline that the school 
had ever known. Every minute circumstance 
was submitted for his approval, and it was taken 
for granted that he had the same privilege to 
control the teacher that he had to control the 
pupils. 

On one occasion, when Cecil was in the midst 
of arduous labors, Miss Malvin’s phaeton 
stopped at the schoolhouse, and Clayborn en- 
tered the building. His mission was to advise, 


Comedy of Petty Conflicts 103 

for the common welfare of the school, and to 
sustain its dignity, that Jack Sanders be ex- 
pelled, and that two others of his kind be se- 
verely punished, as repeated complaints against 
these three had been made to him by the village 
patrons of the school. Now, Jack’s offenses, 
although not criminal, were not in accordance 
with the requirements of those well-bred people, 
and he had led the other boys into mischief. 
Cecil gave a polite hearing to Mr. Clayborn’s 
high-flown lecture, delivered in the presence of 
her pupils. While he spoke he turned his back 
full upon Jack Sanders, and never deigned to 
glance at the lad. When the parson had finished 
speaking Cecil said quietly: 

“I have no misdemeanor in the school beyond 
my control, Mr. Clayborn. When I require ad- 
vice of the trustees I shall report. Till then I 
must ask you to kindly refrain from interference 
with my duties. Jack Sanders shall not be ex- 
pelled.” Cecil’s red lips came together firmly, 
and she looked unflinchingly into the minister’s 
eyes. The muscles of his face twitched nerv- 
ously. 

“No?” he questioned meaningly. 

“No,” she replied, with equal significance. 
“The souls of the backwoods children are as 
precious as those of your parish, sir; and you 
should discriminate between justice and policy. 
Many victims of the law are boys who have been 
banished from educational advantages. Possibly 
abusive teachers developed the savage in their 
natures. These boys here are full of unharmo- 
nized power, which can be converted to good 


104 Comedy of Petty Conflicts 

ends, and it is our duty to develop them. Na- 
tures which follow the lines of least resistance, 
and are tractable because of an absence of force, 
are never heard from in mature life, one way or 
the other.” 

Clayborn shrugged his slioulders and looked 
uncomfortable. “My dear Miss Dupree, you 
should take into consideration that the children 
of my parish are of refined families, and are 
being reared with gentility. They should not be 
subjected to degrading associations.” 

“The degradation,” rejoined Cecil, “exists 
only in the suspicious minds of those who would 
expel a destitute and friendless youth from his 
last opportunity of an education and possible 
moral development. My position demands that 
I should not condemn until every effort has been 
made to reclaim the erring.” 

Clayborn felt that his professional charity had 
been satirized. He twirled his sacred moustache 
and for a moment stood in silent confusion. 

“I must discharge my duty as trustee,” he 
said. 

“And I must discharge my duty as teacher ; so 
you will kindly excuse me while I proceed with 
my classes.” 

Again the man and the woman eyed each 
other, and he realized that she was the stronger 
of the two. He realized, too, that his action had 
been hasty and impulsive, and that it had been 
the result of the influence of others. The morti- 
fication that dyed his cheeks scarlet came as a 
new experience; and yet the little teacher’s re- 
buke awakened in him no resentment. While 


Comedy of Petty Conflicts 105 

his heart yielded her an involuntary deference, 
he could say nothing*. He merely pressed her 
hand warmly, and withdrew. 

Cecil did not look at the young man as he 
turned away, or she would have beheld proof 
of Jack’s profligate disregard of that ecclesi- 
astical dignitary. “Sin kure man pa’sin heavin 
born,” was placarded on Mr. Clayborn’s coat- 
tail. And as he drove away, the incorrigible 
Jack flattened his nose against the window pane, 
in order to make a wry face at him. 

“Le’ me lick him fo’ you, Miss Cecil?” cried 
Jack. "Dog ef I don’t drive a hole through ’im 
in a minute!” He doubled his giant fist in pleas- 
urable anticipation, and with the bullying ges- 
ture of challenge, arose from his seat; but after 
one look into his teacher’s eyes he squirmed back 
into his place. 

Simple-minded Susan Green burst into hys- 
terical laughter, in which the other pupils joined. 
“I never h’ard tell o’ beatin’ of a pa’sin afo’,” 
she said, by way of apology; “peticular w’en his 
gal is with ’im.” 

“Jack Sanders!” called the teacher, with flash- 
ing eyes and anger in her voice, “see the trouble 
that you cause me every day! Why wound and 
grieve me thus? If my efforts in your behalf 
are not acceptable I will go away; but do not 
distress me further.” Tears were upon her eye- 
lashes as she stood regarding the audacious boy. 

Again he arose, this time with a solemn look 
of repentance. Previously he had shown strange 
misgivings, and had slunk away from his teach- 
er’s friendly advances. Suspicion, born of 


106 Comedy of Petty Conflicts 

abuse, was in him, and kept him ever on the de- 
fensive. His experience with human nature was 
confined to a cruel father and a high-tempered 
stepmother. But when he heard his teacher de- 
fend him he recalled her repeated acts of kind- 
ness to him, and a strange feeling of tenderness 
melted his great heart, revealing to him his own 
ingratitude and deficiencies. He shuffled awk- 
wardly from one foot to the other, and then 
spoke. 

“Miss Cecil, I r’speck you, ma’am, an’ I 
r’speck your school chillen a leetle, but I don’t 
take much off’n pa’sins.” He then advanced and 
held out his hand. “Beat me, Miss Cecil,” he 
said; “gi’ me a hund’ed lashes. I d’sarve it, an’ 
I’m pufectly willin’ to tote it — but don’t lef ’ us.” 
His voice faltered. “You’s the fust frien’ I ever 
had sence my ma died. I’m usen to it, so lay 
it thar.” 

Cecil fancied that she beheld a world of good 
hidden beneath the rough exterior, and she 
spoke with subdued sweetness and a pathetic 
tone of appeal: 

“It would not gratify me to punish you, Jack; 
it would give me pain instead. Can you not see 
that you are abusing my friendship when I 
would save you from ignorance and crime? 
Jack, the opportunity is before you to make your 
life what you will by persistent effort day by 
day. I want you to grow into a good and useful 
man, whom everyone will respect. I want to be 
proud of you.” 

As the boy stood holding out his toil-hardened 
hand for chastisement, Cecil laid her dainty 



“Beat me, Miss Cecil,” he said 

































Comedy of Petty Conflicts 107 

white palm in it. At this Jack burst into tears 
and sobbed aloud ; and from that moment a bond 
of eternal friendship was sealed between them. 
It was the turning point in his wretched life, 
and thereafter never did boy struggle harder to 
overcome evil tendencies in himself. 

Cecil’s earnest, sensitive heart was filled with 
a great happiness. She felt repaid for all the 
tribulations she had endured in her efforts to 
reach the boy’s conscience. The incident seemed 
to tell her that no discouragement in life is too 
great to overcome, no kindness too great to show 
to those unfortunates who are separated from 
their fellow creatures by a great social abyss. 

In his corner Jack continued to weep quietly 
tears of genuine repentance. But when he came 
forward to recite manly resolution beamed on 
his begrimed face, which to Cecil was now very 
beautiful. 


io8 


Comedy of Petty Conflicts 


CHAPTER XVI. 

A CHECKMATED ADMIRER. 

When summer once more smiled over Camp- 
ville Cecil's pupils persuaded her to accept an 
invitation to the annual Fourth of July picnic. 
Scoggins, who was on the committee, declared 
that her presence would be the “finishin’ off 
tech" to the occasion. The event marked a red 
letter day in the lives of those primitive people. 
They could not conceive of a more hilarious 
form of enjoyment. Farmers brought their 
families from a distance of thirty miles, many 
of them traveling all night in covered wagons in 
order to reach the spot on time. At seven 
o'clock in the morning of the eventful day the 
picnic ground was crowded. From one huge 
tent claret lemonade was lavishly dispensed. 
From another, corn whiskey — illegitimate and 
the mountaineers' pride — flowed like water. 
Lawless specimens of humanity hung about 
these centers of attraction — fighters, hardshell 
Baptists, and the kind of “damn a nigger demo- 
crat" fellows, who could cleverly conduct a 
lynching. 

The military was awkwardly represented. 
Brass buttons were conspicuous over fearless 
hearts; but, judged by the fit of the uniforms, 


Comedy of Petty Conflicts 109 

every soldier had exchanged his own regimentals 
with his opposite in size and height. The tallest 
wore trousers which did not reach his ankles, 
and they were so extremely tight as to make 
stooping dangerous. The breeches of the short- 
est man were rolled up abundantly, and were so 
voluminous as to lend him a feminine appear- 
ance and a swish as of skirts. 

Squeaky fiddles and banjoes made music for 
the dancers. "Set to your partner!” was heard 
a mile down the avenue entrance. Booted and 
spurred, the brawny cavaliers leaped and jigged 
to the inspiring strains. "Swing yo’ partners an’ 
yo* corners,” rose above other sounds of the 
riotous festivities, and the florid faced lassies 
were sometimes lifted from their feet during the 
excitement of the dance. 

At a distance Cecil enjoyed the picturesque 
and rustic scene, as she tossed the little children 
high in a grapevine swing, or taught them to play 
some game. Before noon, however, she met 
with a disconcerting experience. 

Eli Mervin, one of the Scoggins’ boarders, be- 
came ardently attracted to Cecil and, with the 
confidence born of ignorance, he tried to thrust 
his attentions upon her. Unhesitatingly she 
snubbed him, but his coarse nature failed to rec- 
ognize her rebuffs; and, wishing to appear su- 
perior to his associates, he persistently followed 
her footsteps. 

After dinner Jack Sanders sidled up to his 
teacher and in a sheepish manner began to talk. 
"Miss Cecil, is you tired?” he asked. 

"Correct yourself, Jack,” she responded? 


no 


Comedy of Petty Conflicts 


Thinking for a moment, he repeated to him- 
self, “Am, are, is,” then good-naturedly ex- 
claimed, “Are you tired?” 

“Yes, Jack, just a little.” 

“Does that feller Mervin bother you too 
much ?” 

“Yes, decidedly. Can you not induce him to 
join the dancers? Or else take him for a walk. 
Get him away, I implore you.” 

“You jist hold on, Miss Cecil,” said Jack, with 
a meaning nod; “I promise you’ll git shed of 
’im spotly.” There was a merry twinkle in his 
eyes, which Cecil remembered long after he had 
gone. 

Mervin was in a tent, refreshing himself with 
a glass of corn whiskey. As if unconscious of 
his presence Jack spoke loudly from the door- 
way to the man who sold liquor. 

“Say, Mister, is it any danger fo’ me to swim 
from the bluff to the landin’?” 

“Yes, unless you are a capital swimmer,” re- 
plied the man gruffly. 

“I jist ax you ’cause Miss Cecil Dupree says 
she don’t b’lieve tha’s a man on the groun’s 
brave ’nough to do it. An’ I b’lieve the one 
what done it would have a right sma’t chance o’ 
winnin’ out with her.” Jack restlessly fumbled 
with the tent rope, then added: “B’lieve I’ll try 
it.” 

Mervin, who would have performed any feat 
for a smile of approval from Miss Dupree, im- 
mediately started out in the direction of the 
river. But Jack was clever; he ran ahead of the 
would-be suitor. 


Comedy of Petty Conflicts hi 

“Hold on, Sanders, you fool!” called Mervin, 
“you can’t do it! Let me try first.” 

“All right, sar,” replied Jack, halting; “but 
w’en you git half way, I’m a cornin’, too.” 

Together Mervin and Jack descended the river 
bank. 

The two young men were not missed for some 
time from among their associates. Other dis- 
tractions and many exciting occurrences were 
claiming general attention. A number of politi- 
cians among the picnickers were contributing 
their quota to the day’s entertainment, for in the 
coming autumn a general election was to take 
place. Candidates who, “at the request of their 
friends,” were seeking office, extended to farm- 
er, beggar and scullion the honest hand of 
friendship. The ambitious gentlemen “swung 
corners” with unsophisticated milkmaids, labor- 
iously trying to follow the rustic beauties’ 
weighty grace of motion. They sought young 
mothers with promising offspring, admired and 
dangled the infants on political knees. They 
helped the farmers water the animals, talked 
crops, and handed out plugs of tobacco. In 
short, their philanthropic advances captured all 
hearts. Finally the candidates prepared to make 
stump speeches, and requested the military men 
to support them in their efforts. 

“Ho, ye gallant cap’n!” began a broken down 
aristocrat, in need of money. “Ye military 
braves, who are to-day representing the most 
powerful nation on God’s green earth, be patri- 
otic in the politics of your county as well! Be 
loyal, and put in office such men as would spurn 


ii 2 Comedy of Petty Conflicts 

a position for the filthy lucre they get out of it; 
and, if necessary, dare and die for the welfare 
of the Legislature!” 

This oratorical flourish inspired the few 
straggling members of the Campville infantry 
within hearing, and with loud “hurrahs” they 
rushed to arms. 

“Fall een!” called the first sergeant, inter- 
rupting the stump speaker. 

Very few obeyed the order. 

“Fall een!” again called the sergeant. 

Three awkward soldiers swaggered leisurely 
into line. Repeatedly the order was given, and 
as often almost ignored. 

“Why in the h don’t you come to the 

call?” shouted the captain, in wrathful tones. 

“ ’Cause nearly all the comp’ny is a dancin’,” 
explained a private in the rear rank. 

“Whar’s Gin’ral Yatkins?” called the captain. 

“In the lockup, drunk,” was the reply. 

“Whar’s the constable?” 

“He’s in the lockup, too, fer chokin’ a woman ; 
her husban’ was the best man, so he slapped ’im 
in thar.” 

“Let ’im stay thar, damn ’im!” shouted the 
gallant captain. “No woman beater is fitten fer 
nuthin’.” 

“Hurrah!” was yelled from a hundred strong 
throats. 

“Forward, march!” commanded the captain. 
He moved forward with his few men, and halted 
them beside the dance platform. 

“Now will ye come?” called the captain to the 
soldiers who figured in the quadrille. 


Comedy of Petty Conflicts 113 

The dancers had discarded their heavy coats 
and, perspiring copiously in their shirtsleeves, 
they were “cutting the pigeon wing. ,, 

“Fall een!” yelled the captain and the first ser- 
geant simultaneously. But “cheat or swing” was 
the only reply from the dancing soldiery. 

“I’ll go fetch ’em!” cried a volunteer, anxious 
to defend the discipline of his company. The 
captain nodded to the lusty young man, who im- 
mediately mounted the platform and called in 
thunderous tones: “Say, thar! I don’t want to 
shoot in the crowd of women folks, but I swar 
I’ll do it ef you don’t fall een!” 

“We ain’t a cornin’ a darn step tell this dance 
is over,” was the reply. “We dar’ you to shoot!” 

The defeated brave stepped back, and shouted 
to the captain, “Whar’s Lieutenant Mervin? 
He’ll make ’em fall een, fer he’s as brave a man 
as ever cut a throat, burnt a house, or lynched a 
nigger !”_ 

But Lieutenant Mervin was among the miss- 
ing; therefore military and political discipline 
were overruled by the dancing element. 

At sunset it was reported that the irrepressi- 
ble Jack Sanders had enticed Mervin into the 
river adventure, and that when Mervin was well 
down stream Sanders had run away with the 
lieutenant’s clothes. Neither the clothes nor 
Sanders could be found. 

“Jack Sanders will yit die with his shoes and 
clothes on, for his’n is a goin’ to be a onnatu’al 
death,” declared Mrs. Scoggins to Cecil. “He 
ain’t afear’d o’ nuthin’ an’ nobody ; he’s kep’ Mr. 
Mervin in the ’oods fer three hours, an’ nobody 


1 14 Comedy of Petty Conflicts 

never h’ard him till a oY nigger come up in a 
rowboat, an’ foun’ ’im a shiverin’ in the bushes. 
I’m s’prised at you, Miss Cecil, fer takin’ a likin’ 
to Jack Sanders. I wouldn’ ’low my gals to 
sochet with ’im.” 

“1 believe, Mrs. Scoggins, that I have the lib- 
erty to like or dislike whom I please,” rejoined 
Cecil spicily. 

Mrs. Scoggins squatted on the ground in a 
very inelegant attitude, as she munched a piece 
of potato pie, and drank pink lemonade from a 
tincup. 

“Mr. Mervin would make a mighty good hus- 
ban’ fer you, Miss Cecil,” she remarked, by way 
of apology. “He’s got a fine mar’ an’ colt, forty 
acres of ” 

“I am not here for the purpose of marriage,” 
interrupted Cecil; “kindly commit that to mem- 
ory.” 

Further comment was checked by the sudden 
appearance of Mary Ann Scoggins. She was 
greatly excited, and the perspiration poured 
from her fat, red face. She was the heroine of 
a bowie knife tragedy, for two rustics had locked 
in deadly combat over the question as to which 
one should take her home. While Mrs. Scog- 
gins sat agape at the idea of Cecil’s indifference 
to Mervin, who was considered a “good catch,” 
a horrible yell, mingled with oaths and wran- 
gling, came to their ears. 

“They’ve hitched ag’in ! I knowed it was a 
cornin’!” cried Mrs. Scoggins, as she jumped up 
and stood in a listening attitude. “It’s Perkins 
and Blunt. They’ve fought twice already to- 


Comedy of Petty Conflicts 115 

day, an’ now it sounds like the whole fam’lies is 
a j’inin' in. I think I’ll go stop pa from takin' 
a hand. But Ma'y Ann, whar's Bully ?” 

“Bully Scoggins ain't no run off cock,” re- 
plied Mary Ann, with a burst of laughter. “Las' 
time I seen 'im he was a fightin' the three Slo- 
cum boys, an' the Slocum gal was a punchin' of 
'im with a long pole; an' their ma was a lickin' 
at ’im with a fishin' rod ; an' their leetle dog was 
a swingin' to the seat of his pant'loons, but Bully 
was a keepin' up his repitition.” 

“Sakes alive!” exclaimed Mrs. Scoggins, “he's 
been a fightin' eva' sence he lit out o’ the wagon 
a’ ta' Rogers boy, soon 'smornin'.” 

The hubbub increased, and far and near the 
woods echoed the belligerent sounds. 

“Please let's go away from here!” begged Ce- 
cil, piteously; “my head aches and I must go 
home.” 

“All right, honey,” replied Mrs. Scoggins ; 
“but don't git skeered, for tha' neva' was a picnic 
here in the las' fifty years' thout the men got as 
full as goats, an’ fit tooth an' toenail.” 

The grand finale to the day's merrymaking 
was a mob fight. Too much “corn” had demor- 
alized the crowd. 


ii6 


Comedy of Petty Conflicts 


CHAPTER XVII. 

THE LOVELY CHERUB. 

Housekeeping re-established, Theo Wendell 
cheerfully resumed her domestic responsibili- 
ties. Very soon the birth of a son brought quite 
a change into the home. Wendell proved a de- 
voted husband during his wife's convalescence; 
but when she was fully restored to health he 
once more sought his social diversions, and he 
was received among his old friends with abun- 
dant cordiality. 

When Rupert II was a month old the nurse 
was discharged and the youthful mother antici- 
pated manifold delights in the care of her won- 
derful child. She said that during its tender 
infancy the treasure should be attended only by 
its parents. But in her maternal indulgence she 
spoiled that treasure so completely that soon her 
strength became exhausted, and she was con- 
strained to call her husband into the joys of mid- 
night vigil. This novel experience had a ten- 
dency to develop a temper in Wendell. He strug- 
gled to overcome his irritability, but with vol- 
canic force it would find vent. And, pacing the 
floor in the dreary stillness of midnight, he 
would exclaim: 

“By thunder, this exercise of limb and pa- 


t 


Comedy of Petty Conflicts 117 

tience is more harrowing than walking post at 
a military school! Oh, you insignificant, wrig- 
gling, squalling brat, to send forth such volume 
of sound !” He gave the baby a cautious little 
shake, and as a swell from an organ, its tones 
became deeper. A vigorous toss up and down, 
then baby held his breath, and his color changed 
from red to purple. 

“Give me my child !” cried the mother in 
alarm. “God’s own little messenger, the symbol 
of love sent as heaven’s best gift — yours and 
mine, Rupert.” 

“All yours,” mumbled the sleepy man, as he 
crawled into bed. 

“It’s very cry is perfect melody to me; it is 
the echo of our wedding bells, hubby,” said 
Theo, as she smothered the little one with 
kisses. 

The slumbers of this extraordinary infant 
were short and infrequent ; its delight was in the 
solemn midnight march, which seemed the only 
thing that could quiet its frisky temperament. 
If the walking ceased for a moment, its bright 
eyes would open in wonder, and its voice was 
tuned to a wail of anger. 

Wendell administered, with unsparing hand, 
brandy, castoria, paregoric. Sometimes rough- 
on-rats timidly suggested itself to his weary 
brain. Finally he declared that he could no 
longer endure the wear and tear of these mid- 
night ordeals, and he resolved to find a trust- 
worthy nurse. 

“Oh, my dear,” protested Theo, “I cannot bear 
to think of trusting the lovely cherub to a nurse. 


n8 Comedy of Petty Conflicts 

I would rather care for my darling every min- 
ute of the day and night than feel that he was in 
the hands of some irresponsible creature. ” 

"Just as you like,” retorted the irate husband, 
“but my position as floor walker is from this 
moment resigned; and if you continue to indulge 
the young rascal in habits so vile, I shall take a 
sleeping apartment at the Windsor. I must have 
rest, or I cannot carry on my business.” 

The threat acted like magic; it set the wife to 
thinking; it recalled jealous heartaches. 

“Well, get the nurse if you think best,” she 
replied, as she hugged the babe to her breast. “I 
will train her if she is inefficient; and I’ll keep a 
close watch over my jewel — my heart.” 

The next day, at an early hour, nurse Sarah 
arrived. Black and benevolent of countenance, 
humble to a fault, she was yet ever ready to in- 
struct young mothers in the art of “raisin’ chil- 
f en.” 

Mrs. Wendell reluctantly placed her babe in 
Sarah’s arms. “My beautiful son, with his 
father’s eyes!” she murmured, and stood near, 
in dread of — she knew not what. Her knowl- 
edge of cooks and house servants made her dis- 
trustful. 

Sarah glanced at the young mother from the 
corner of her eye, and remarked: “No kagun to 
watch me so close, misses. Don’t you bodder 
’bout de chil’, lease I’s a sperienced nuss. I done 
raise ’bout a t’ousan’ chil’en, black, white an’ 
yaller, an’ I’s a gwine to raise dis one, wid de 
Lord’s he’p. We must l’a’n dis leetle fellow to 
be tough, an’ den he won’t be sickly.” 


Comedy of Petty Conflicts 119 

Sarah’s words, instead of quieting the misgiv- 
ings of her mistress, caused Theo to be still 
more watchful. 

“Remember that baby is only six weeks old, 
Sarah,” the nurse was cautioned; “hold him ten- 
derly.” 

“Yes’m, yes’m; I know all ’bout dat age fo’ 
chil’en. You go eat your breakruss, my misses, 
an’ make youse’f sati’fy.” 

Before the meal was over there was a smoth- 
ered squall from baby. The anxious mother 
sprang from her chair and rushed into the ad- 
joining room. Sarah stood before the mantel, 
gripping baby’s skirts, which were drawn over 
his head, while he dangled bowlegged before the 
fire. He kicked and squirmed in trying to catch 
his breath, while the determined nurse smoked 
a chalk pipe, and patiently awaited the desired 
result. 

“What are you doing with my baby?” cried 
Mrs. Wendell, in a voice of terror. 

“I was lannin’ him to t’row ’e water in de 
chimbly, ma’arm, so dat he’ll be neat wid ’e 
clothes,” replied Sarah, with quiet reassurance. 
That, however, was the last art she tried to teach 
the boy. 

Her successor was a buxom mulatto — Pris- 
cilla Leonora Primrose Washington — youthful 
and coquettish. 

“A treasure, I think,” said Wendell to his 
wife. “Give the child into her care, Theo, for 
her recommendations are of the best. The con- 
tinual anxiety you suffer is maddening. I can- 
not longer endure this state of affairs.” 


120 


Comedy of Petty Conflicts 


But Priscilla proved to be a more complex 
proposition than her predecessor. Concerning 
the care of the infant she ignored her mistress 
and appealed to “the boss.” Whenever the time 
for his home-coming approached she consulted 
her mirror, and to a noticeable degree she flaunt- 
ed her finery before his eyes. She moved with 
a fancy strut, which gave the desired shake to 
her pleasing rotundity of form. She cleverly 
managed to display her elaborately trimmed and 
overstarched petticoats and was extravagant in 
the use of musk and cologne. Her insolent ad- 
vances had a tendency to arouse murderous re- 
sentment in the fastidious “boss. ,, They sur- 
prised and alarmed Theo, and Miss Flintof’s 
condemnation and warning hastened Miss Wash- 
ington’s banishment from the Wendell home. 

“Find a nurse without personal charms,” ad- 
vised the spinster; “one whom you approve. Al- 
low Wendell no word in the matter.” 

This was exactly what Wendell desired, and 
in his anxiety to please he sent several colored 
applicants to the house each day for his wife’s 
approval. Baby narrowly escaped with his life 
upon many occasions during Theo’s search for 
a competent nurse. One of them almost suffo- 
cated him in her anxiety to keep him warm; an- 
other one insisted upon covertly giving the child 
a taste of her favorite viands, which caused 
sudden and alarming illnesses. Still another one 
carried in her bosom pins like harpoons, which 
pierced the tender little hands. This nurse was 
replaced by one who usually carried the baby 


Comedy of Petty Conflicts 


121 


head downward, and one day while she was 
bathing the little fellow only the timely appear- 
ance of his mother saved him from drowning. 

“The kid has a charmed life/' laughed the 
reckless father while listening to a recital of the 
perils through which his boy had passed. Much 
to his wife’s annoyance, Wendell seemed to re- 
gard these barbaric tortures of the child as 
mirth-provoking occasions, for his laughter 
often mingled with Theo’s sobs and baby’s shrill 
cries, which cries, the father said, reminded him 
of a “siren whistle.” 

Baby’s advent was effecting a change in the 
home life of the Wendells. Rupert’s natural im- 
pulses drove him away from domestic conflicts. 
His wife was wounded by his increasing indif- 
ference to home ties, and gently reminded him 
that the new burdens should make these ties 
stronger, and that he should not prefer the 
sparkle of society to the joys of the nursery. 
Reproaches drove him still further away. 

“Honeymoon days,” said Miss Flintof sagely, 
“belong to the temperature of man’s love; and, 
like dog days, are of short duration.” 

With the cooling of Wendell’s fiery affections 
came the natural sequence under which many 
women must suffer. The young husband be- 
came exacting and parsimonious. 

Theo passed through her moments of disap- 
pointment and unrest bravely. She was too loyal 
to deplore, in an unguarded moment, anything 
which would recognize fault in her husband. In 
her secret soul she refused to acknowledge in- 
congeniality. She thought of the countless men 


122 Comedy of Petty Conflicts 

and women who, having consorted with the 
wrong mate, were chafing away their lives 
against the decrees of fate. 

"A good wife,” she told herself, “should be 
all love, confidence and obedience.” 


Comedy of Petty Conflicts 


123 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

THE STRONGER SOUL. 

In the struggling ranks of self-sustaining 
women Cecil Dupree never faltered. She sacri- 
ficed to life’s stern realities hours usually given 
over to girlhood’s pleasures. She would arise 
early in the morning and put her small suite of 
rooms in order before breakfasting. They were 
very pretty rooms, cosy and artistic, though far 
from luxurious. A couple of canaries swung 
in the sunlight, while flowers bloomed near the 
windows in and out of season. When her in- 
come permitted she would add objects of com- 
fort or beauty to her little sanctum, although she 
more often devoted what money she could spare 
to the needs of those more destitute than her- 
self. In fact, she sometimes sacrificed her own 
necessities to another’s wants, with an unre- 
served liberality, as refreshing as it was un- 
usual. 

At four o’clock each afternoon Cecil returned 
from school and devoted the remaining hours of 
the day to her music scholars. She hovered pa- 
tiently over children with clumsy fingers and no 
music in their souls. She never looked unkindly 
into their perplexed, stupid faces, while persist- 
ently training them to hammer out the first 


124 Comedy of Petty Conflicts 

“piece, ” impatiently anticipated by proud pa- 
rents. Supper, and a brisk walk through the 
dusk refreshed the girl after her tiresome labors. 
She bore the strain well and two years of this 
unvarying routine did not discourage her, nor 
mar the bloom of her superb health. 

At the end of that time there came to the 
Robbins House Madam Bellot, a woman of 
French birth and rearing, advanced in years, 
and a person who clung pathetically to youth, 
denying and fretfully resisting the approaching 
infirmities of age. She was a globe wanderer, 
who sought life's enjoyments, and forgot its 
higher calling. Wealthy and alone in the world, 
she fancied that people coveted her riches. She 
was cynical and restless, and wore a world- 
weary expression on her haggish face. 

To Cecil's astonishment, this beldame mani- 
fested a marked preference for the young girl's 
companionship. Cecil received these advances 
impartially, for wealth and position were given 
no preference in her democratic nature. 

One night an alarming attack of nervousness 
seized the Madam. Uncharitable people said it 
was “delirium tremens," and were shocked when 
they heard the ancient dame hurl her slipper at 
the head of her maid, Theresa, and order the 
girl from the room. In tears Theresa fled to Ce- 
cil's room, and implored her assistance. Cecil 
went at once to Madam Bellot, who poured out 
a dismal tale of her own suffering, the neglect 
of those around her, the greed and hypocrisy of 
professional men, and her overwhelming disgust 
for humanity. Cecil’s gentle services proved a 


Comedy of Petty Conflicts 125 

balm for the sufferer, and under the girl’s sooth- 
ing touch the weary brain and throbbing nerves 
became calm. Cecil kept watch beside the couch 
from midnight until dawn ; and when the sleeper 
stirred, muttering incoherent words of misery, 
the girl’s soft voice brought comfort and tran- 
quility. 

The mysterious woman was overwhelmed with 
a sense of gratitude, and in her attentions to 
Cecil she became almost tiresome. She could 
not understand the girl’s happy life, knowing its 
almost destitute condition; but she enjoyed the 
sunshine reflected from it. When letters came 
from her lawyers and stewards, consulting her 
in the management of her vast estates, in mel- 
ancholy distress she appealed to Cecil for assist- 
ance. The burden of her wealth became too 
much for her, and the thought of its disposal at 
her death was to her another source of regret. 

Early one morning Madam Bellot was ill with 
one of her disagreeable attacks, and summoned 
Cecil to the darkened room, where the old lady 
lay complaining miserably. Cecil’s pity was 
aroused by the pallid face and emaciated form 
of the sufferer, and she pressed the thin hands 
sympathetically. 

“Miss Dupree,” began the old lady, in sepul- 
chral tones, “I am a physical wreck. My phy- 
sician’s letters recommend sea travel. In fact, 
he urges that I go without delay. I now offer 
to take you with me as my protege. You will 
have six months of travel, and the enjoyment 
that it gives — an advantage worthy of accept- 
ance. We will take with us two maids. Do not 


126 Comedy of Petty Conflicts 

refuse me.” She made a gesture of impatience, 
for the expression of Cecil’s face checked her 
speech. 

“No, dear Madam Bellot, I thank you very 
much, but it is impossible for me to accept your 
generous offer,” said Cecil resolutely. “It will 
give me pleasure, though, to do what I can to 
help you in preparing for your voyage.” 

The older woman dropped her hands listlessly 
beside her, threw back her head, and groaned 
aloud. 

“I think that you will receive vast benefit from 
the change,” continued Cecil, nervously ; and 
she tried to withhold the conversation from her 
proposed connection with the trip. But the per- 
sistent old lady was not to be so easily defeated, 
for she was accustomed to having her own way. 
She entreated, shed tears, and almost tore her 
dyed locks. She sent a messenger to Pine Sta- 
tion to telegraph for a specialist, and then wor- 
ried herself into one of her maniacal moods. 
But Cecil’s defenses were impregnable, and after 
she had witnessed a stormy scene she went away 
to her school. 

That night she was disturbed by a violent 
pounding on her door and Theresa’s call for 
help. In alarm she threw on her dressing gown 
and hastened to Madam Bellot. The woman, 
propped with pillows, was wildly wringing her 
hands, her face ghastly in the dim light, her eyes 
sunken and circled by shadowy rings. Her 
nightcap was on the floor, and the bedclothes 
were tumbled as though she had been in com- 


Comedy of Petty Conflicts 127 

bat with an evil spirit. The village doctor bus- 
tled in and looked at her gravely. 

“I want to go now!” groaned the invalid, as 
her hysterics increased. '‘Let me die ! The only 
mortal I really like has refused my supplication, 
which if granted, would only prolong my worth- 
less life. Cecil Dupree, your refusal to my en- 
treaties has finished me. Do not give me medi- 
cine. Let me die !” She gasped, rolled her eyes, 
and fell back exhausted by her extravagant 
speech. 

“Well, well,” rejoined Cecil, good-humoredly, 
“but would death improve your condition?” 

“What?” questioned Madam Bellot. “I 
thought you unselfish and humane. Are you like 
the rest of the world?” 

“Exactly,” replied Cecil, “and as you seem to 
be the only faultless being here, doubtless you 
should wing your flight to a better sphere.” 

This treatment seemed to have a beneficial 
effect on the patient, for she lapsed into profound 
silence, and even forgot to groan. But soon she 
turned to the doctor and motioned him toward 
the door. “You may go,” she said; “your pro- 
fession is all rot. Your physic keeps me ill.” 

The doctor remained silent as he prepared an 
opiate, and indulged a suppressed smile. He 
handed Cecil the goblet, and she approached the 
bedside. 

“Drink this,” she said, “and if you desire my 
services for the night, control yourself. If you 
rave again I’ll leave you.” 

Madam Bellot gazed unflinchingly into the 
girl’s eyes as she took the potion. It was a novel 


128 Comedy of Petty Conflicts 

experience for her to find a person whom her 
money could not influence, and the failure of 
that lever nonplussed her. An awkward silence 
followed, during which the maid rearranged the 
room. 

“Calm yourself and induce sleep," advised Ce- 
cil as she chafed the restless old hands. “You 
alone are to blame for your present condition. 
You have indulged your own morbid selfishness 
for so many years that you have lost control of 
your nerves and mind. Dear Madam Bellot, you 
have too much good in you to waste the rest of 
your life so inconsequently. Think of the good 
you might have done, and that you may do in 
forgetting yourself and your imagined ills. 
Think of the marly people who haven't bread to 
eat, clothes to wear, nor a roof to shelter them. 
Think of the wretched mothers, overburdened 
and ill, trying to earn a few pennies by working 
from dawn to dark, in order to provide for their 
starving babes. Think of the dark tenements, 
where no sunshine nor fresh air can enter, and 
where a dozen people are crowded into one room. 
Think " 

“It isn't pleasant to think of such things," 
murmured the Madam, closing her eyes with an 
expression of pain. She remained silent for a 
while, then said softly: “So long have the doors 
of mercy been closed on me that the hinges rust. 
God's frown, like midnight's gloom, has settled 
over my soul. His mercy is turned away." 

Cecil bent down and kissed the troubled brow, 
singing softly: 


Comedy of Petty Conflicts 129 

“Oh, all embracing mercy, oh, ever open door! 
What shall we do without Thee, when heart and 
eyes run o’er? ,, 

The restless spirit calmed, and sleep settled 
over the aching eyelids. 

Days of waiting and entreaties passed. The 
invalid’s strength decreased, and her face be- 
came more pinched and haggard. The special- 
ist, persuaded by Madam Bellot, presented the 
matter to Cecil so tragically that the girl grew 
desperate. 

"Do not refuse the Madam’s request,” he 
urged; "go with her. It will be an act of hu- 
manity. She clings to you, Miss Dupree, and if 
you deny her request the result will be fatal. In 
her morbid state her discordant characteristics 
will continue active. She feels that she has out- 
lived her day and generation, so she has wrapped 
her soul in gloom to await the final issue.” 

When alone Cecil gave herself to earnest 
thought. "My home nest to be abandoned !” she 
sighed, gazing lovingly at each familiar object. 
But the next day she went to Madam Bellot. 
With apparent cheerfulness she consented to 
the old lady’s wishes, and began preparations for 
their prospective journey. The invalid rallied 
and grew more amiable. Her gratitude and gen- 
erosity were boundless; but the proud spirited 
girl rebelled at anything like dependence, and 
refused to accept a penny more than her actual 
expenses for the trip. Madam Bellot raved 
about what she termed her own obligation, and 
forced upon Cecil a munificent check. 


130 Comedy of Petty Conflicts 

“Well, I will accept the money with this pro- 
viso/' declared Cecil: “I must be allowed to dis- 
pose of it as I will, without question." For the 
girl determined to use it in behalf of her desti- 
tute scholars. 

As the donor gladly consented, and manifested 
interest in Cecil's wise and charitable proposi- 
tion, immediate arrangements were made to 
place Jack Sanders in a military school. This 
noble act gave unlimited gratification to Cecil. 

There was a touching scene in the school- 
house when Cecil bade her pupils farewell. The 
young folks hung about her with affectionate de- 
votion, begging her to promise to return to 
them. Cecil comforted them as best she could, 
and told them to remember during her absence 
all she had tried to teach them. 

A week later Madam Bellot and Cecil, with 
every luxury conducive to pleasant travel, were 
en route for the West. In March they reached 
San Francisco, that picturesque city where 
homes are built upon the lofty hills, terrace 
above terrace, overlooking the marvelous pano- 
rama of the harbor below. 

The two ladies boarded the steamship “Em- 
press of China," passed through the Golden 
Gate, and were soon on the broad Pacific. Wind 
and wave were favorable, and the ship made a 
calm passage to the Philippines. Cecil's delight 
was boundless. The wonders of a new world 
broke upon her keen sensibilities, arousing a 
childlike enthusiasm which was thoroughly re- 
freshing. The motion of the ship, so distress- 
ing to most of the passengers, filled her with a 


Comedy of Petty Conflicts 131 

buoyant feeling of freedom, and the life on 
shipboard was a source of endless interest to her. 

The girl’s joyousness was contagious, and 
brought into the Madam’s face the first real smile 
that had been there for many years. She could 
not conceal her satisfaction in Cecil’s company, 
and the girl encouraged every glimmer of cheer- 
fulness that had seemed dead ‘within the wom- 
an’s nature. Madam aroused herself sufficiently 
to explain to Cecil many strange sights and cus- 
toms of the eastern islands, with an unusual in- 
terest. 

“I do not recognize myself,” laughed Cecil, 
while luxuriating in the splendors of the Orient. 
“I fear that it is a dream, and that I shall awake 
to find myself again with my classes, expound- 
ing mathematical problems, or the piano key- 
board.” 

“Never shall you, Cecil, do another day’s 
work!” said the Madam, vehemently; “and who- 
ever offers you a position shall answer to me for 
the offense. You shall stay with me always, be 
as my very own, and have everything provided 
for you.” 

Cecil laughed and held up a warning finger. 
“Let us not discuss that,” she said. “Before I 
would be a child of dependence I would see you 
die many times of nervous jimjams.” 

The Madam straightened up severely, but the 
look of saucy good-nature on Cecil’s face dis- 
armed her, and she turned away to conceal a 
smile that threatened to illume her hard counte- 
nance. 

“Grant me this pleasure at least, you inde- 


132 Comedy of Petty Conflicts 

pendent little wretch,” pleaded the woman ; 
“wear my jewels as though they were your own.” 
And she adorned Cecil so attractively that, true 
to the impulses of youth, the girl admired the 
effect, and consented to wear the simplest of 
them. Cecil had dash and style, and the bits of 
finery which Madam forced upon her from time 
to time helped to bring out the brilliancy of her 
beauty, and an elegance of bearing. 

But Madam was not always as discreet in her 
habiliments as was her young charge. On one 
occasion, while in the far East, the old lady 
appeared in public arrayed in a gown of yellow 
satin of Oriental design. Her bare feet were 
thrust into jeweled slippers; jewels flashed from 
her ears, and weighed heavily upon her fingers, 
and she coquetted behind a jewel-studded Japa- 
nese fan, from which fluttered gaudy feathers. 
This remarkable incident convinced Cecil that 
Madam needed a chaperon, and so, with flushed 
cheeks but abundant will power, the girl lec- 
tured that individual. She determined in her 
own mind to give more attention to Madam’s se- 
lection of costumes in the future. 

“Fashion allows bright colors for women who 
have passed the meridian of life,” whined Ma- 
dam Bel lot. 

“True,” replied Cecil determinedly, “but 
fashion which encourages a gorgeous and vulgar 
style of dress, and one unsuited to women of 
advanced years should not be tolerated. Dear 
Madam Bellot, you are not bad looking, but gay, 
youthful attire makes you look — ahem— an- 
cient !” As Cecil had expected, the effect of 


Comedy of Petty Conflicts 133 

these words upon Madam was immediate and 
salutary. 

In railroad and steamship travel Cecil attended 
Madam Bellot with unceasing fidelity. She did 
not trust to the hand of a hireling those delicate 
attentions so dear to sad hearts. The maid, 
Theresa, was above reproach, but the invalid had 
been surfeited by attentions procured only by 
money, and preferred Cecil's unremunerated 
services. And Cecil now felt no regret for the 
sacrifice she had made in temporarily breaking 
up her home, and leaving her work in Campville. 
She remembered that, in so doing, she had been 
able to assist the unfortunate ones whom she had 
left behind her. True, her mind often returned 
to her charges in the North Carolina town. Most 
of all she thought of Jack Sanders. At parting 
she had impressed upon that illiterate boy's 
mind the value of the superior advantages be- 
fore him. 

“You will have your ups and downs, Jack,” 
she had said, “but be a brave soldier in life's 
battle; cherish honor and principle, resist evil, 
and you will develop into a fine man.” 

Now Jack's conception of bravery was not 
exactly in accordance with that which his gra- 
cious teacher meant to impress. She realized 
this when she opened his first letter since he had 
gone away to school. 

“Milinary scule, 

“febber warry ubenth. 

“Dare misseasel 

I wood of rote you befo but I aint had no 


134 Comedy of Petty Conflicts 

time fur nuthin sence I cum but to dfen myself 
— the hardes wurk I has to do is to fite an very 
leetle spere time I has frum it. a feller is got 
to fite weather hes “brave” or no — or he’ll git 
killed in the mob its wus hare than a battil feel. 
Tha calls me “odds rat” frum the backood but I 
made i of em think I was a wile bull t’other 
nite — hes a stuck up feller an he favurs Clay- 
born the sinkure man — he sicks tother rest of the 
boys on me — wen I fust cum he tole me the nue 
cummers done the shue shinin, an he fuled me 
into shinin of hisn fer moarn a weak, fo I foun 
out he was a darn froud, an I tole im so — an 
I tole im whar to go — an I slapped im in the 
face with all the shues in rech an I beet im tell 
he howled heself hoarse fo sum uther fellers cum 
to his sistence — then 3 of em cum, buss open the 
door an then I needed what I never got that was 
sistence. Tha beet me with three cheers, the 
kine you set in, but hoi on, my time is a cummin 
an lie be a 'brave solger’ all rite, an lie be 'up’ 
that time an them 'down’ fur He hurt their ‘prin- 
cipul’ wharever that is, moarn I hurt ely Mer- 
vins on the 4 of Jully picknick wen I ca’d him 
a swimmer you member your frien Jack San- 
ders. 

P. O. — This oncitely pistil r’flecks no credit on 
you, misseasel, but member my eddication was 
ruint, an I was set in my ways afore you come 
to Campville m’am.” 


Comedy of Petty Conflicts 


135 


CHAPTER XIX. 

VALLEY BEAUTIFUL. 

In June Madam Bellot and her fair protege 
arrived in Chamouni, that valley whose strange 
beauty has, for so many years, enthralled the 
tourist. Cecil observed that its inhabitants were 
crude and stolid looking people. Their history, 
she learned, dated back to the Norman con- 
quests. Under the rigid rule of the priors the 
peasants had been subjected to much oppression 
and suffering. Small misdemeanors were pun- 
ished by death, and a mere accusation was 
enough to send an innocent victim to the stake, 
while the property of the doomed was given to 
the priory. Not until the close of the sixteenth 
century did the people of this valley shake off 
some of the shackles of priestly tyranny, and 
learn that a great world existed beyond the 
mighty encircling mountains. 

Cecil never tired of gazing up at the great 
Glacier des Bosson, and Mount Blanc thrilled 
her with its dominating grandeur. She shared 
the common ambition of tourists to scale its 
height, daring the perilous frown of black clouds 
which so suddenly darkens the summit. The 
peasants of the early times were not familiar 
with the peaks and glaciers of the upper region, 


136 Comedy of Petty Conflicts 

although, for many years, they had conducted 
travelers over the lower part of the Mer de 
Glace. The lofty peaks and passes were unex- 
plored until Balmat’s bravery made Chamouni 
famous. 

Cecil enjoyed also to stroll through the nar- 
row streets of the town of Chamouni, which 
were thronged with cosmopolitan crowds, in 
ceaseless motion. Stalwart guides hovered about 
the many hotels, waiting to conduct inexperi- 
enced and ambitious tourists over the dangerous 
passes, for the frequent accidents in these re- 
gions do not deter the daring adventurer from 
his projects. 

Madam Bellot’s health was rapidly improving. 
The ocean voyage had proven a tonic for her 
nerves, and seemed to have given her a new 
hold upon life; while her pride and interest in 
Cecil compelled her to forget herself and her 
ailments, and therefore inspired within her a 
nobler sense of living. Cecil observed the change 
with great satisfaction; for, knowing the inva- 
lid’s morbid propensities, the girl had anticipated 
trouble in what she had updertaken. She in- 
duced the Madam to walk abroad with her daily, 
and the exhilarating air of the enchanted region 
declared its own value. 

As the two loitered along the hillside one 
evening, watching the sunset beyond glittering 
glaciers, they came to the little English chapel. 
Its gate and doors stood open, and the deep 
tones of an organ floated softly, dreamily on the 
still air. Some one was singing. A peaceful 
calm seemed to settle over the spirit of Madam 


Comedy of Petty Conflicts 137 

Bellot as she listened. Cecil guided her com- 
panion's footsteps to the door of the sanctuary. 
There the older woman hesitated, until overcome 
by the mysterious power of the girl's will, she 
was induced to enter. Madam Bellot had not 
been inside of a church for many weary years, 
but she did not feel wholly out of her sphere, 
for in her obdurate heart something was begin- 
ning to throb faintly in harmony with the sooth- 
ing tones of the organ's message. The priest's 
absolution was no longer despised, and her in- 
terest was awakened in life's nobler vocation. 
Cecil watched the softening lines in the old lady's 
face with satisfaction, and the two started home- 
ward in sympathetic silence. 

But Cecil most enjoyed the hours when she 
could go alone to some retired nook in the be- 
wilderingly lovely surroundings. One day as 
she stood alone, idly dreaming on the rustic 
bridge that spanned the silvery Arve, she felt 
her gaze drawn upward until it met that of a 
stranger, who for some time had been studying 
her face. She was startled. The color flew to 
her cheeks, then as rapidly receded. A quiver- 
ing sigh of undefined emotion escaped her. She 
felt as if she had known him always, and her 
pure impulses went forth to meet him. But she 
quickly recovered herself, and turned away. As 
she walked slowly down the path she felt that 
the stranger’s superb eyes were following her, 
and she was glad, although she vouchsafed not 
a glance backward. 

At the Hotel des Alps Cecil saw him again. 
She learned that his name was Douglas Barry- 


138 Comedy of Petty Conflicts 

more, and she learned also that he was very 
popular among the titled beauties of Europe who 
were whiling away the season in this wonderful 
valley. 

“He shall not count me among his conquests,” 
Cecil told herself, as she noted the many invit- 
ing smiles cast in his direction, and pitied the 
weakness of women who were unable to mask 
their emotions with pride. 

“Perhaps he would come to me if — if I 
chose,” she thought, as time after time she 
passed him with studied indifference, although 
her heart trembled under his steady, sincere eyes. 

Cecil had a number of admirers. Her inde- 
pendence, her fresh young beauty, her dauntless 
spirit were irresistible attractions. She accom- 
plished feats in mountain climbing where few, 
if any, women were brave enough to follow. The 
women shrugged their shoulders and raised their 
eyebrows, pronouncing her — well, a trifle too 
sure of herself for good taste. The men spoke 
of her as “la petite of dash and dare.” But 
everyone yielded her the prestige of a presuma- 
ble heiress, and she therefore enjoyed great pop- 
ularity. Madam Bellot encouraged this impres- 
sion, and the two enjoyed the situation as a capi- 
tal joke. When they were alone Cecil would 
mimic her admirers, and give ludicrous accounts 
of their manner of paying her homage. The old 
lady decked her protege with her jewels, made 
her the companion of princesses, and a favorite 
among the nobles. Only one of Cecil's associ- 
ates seemed indifferent to her charms — that was 
Douglas Barrymore. 


Comedy of Petty Conflicts 139 

Among her adorers were two gallants who 
sought to outdo each other in devoted attentions. 
One was Bourbon Lafay, a French officer — 
clever and handsome, and a chivalrous gentle- 
man. His piercing eyes, dark hair and mustache 
corresponded admirably with his olive complex- 
ion, touched with a ruddy warmth of color. 
Donar Von Halz was a povertv-stricken German 
count, in hot pursuit of American coin. These 
twain shadowed the footsteps of the popular 
Mademoiselle Dupree, who impartially divided 
her favors between them. Under this treatment 
jealousy was born and nourished. When unob- 
served the rivals glanced defiance at each other; 
but Lafay, small and agile, generally managed 
to slip in between the clumsy count and the 
adorable object of his affections. With restless 
grace the Frenchman would toy with his badge 
of the Legion of Honor, as if thereby to press 
his claim upon Cecil's respect and admiration. 
The mercenary Von Halz, twirling the ends of 
his mustache heavenward, sought to establish 
precedence by frequently caressing an ugly scar 
that stretched across his scalp, and which was in- 
flicted by the swx>rd of a German student. This 
scar did not enhance his appearance: his pale, 
goose-like eyes, sorrel tinted hair, and ruddy 
nose. 

Von Halz was a psychologist; he lectured, and 
in his German brogue expressed strong but sac- 
religious ideas. Many and warm were the dis- 
cussions he held with Cecil on subjects sacred 
to her, and she was enthusiastic in their de- 
fense. He scoffed at and satirized the truths 


140 Comedy of Petty Conflicts 

taught by orthodox Christianity, and used iso- 
lated quotations from the Bible to prove his 
materialistic theories. Unfortunately for his 
progress in love-making he, in an unguarded mo- 
ment, declared that Mademoselle Dupree must 
be worth ten million marcs if she desired the 
title of countess. Cecil accidentally overheard 
the remark, smiled, and mentally decided that 
possibly she would have a hearing in the matter. 

“The love-making of a German,” she said to 
Madam Bellot, “whether genuine or feigned, is 
monotonous; and his sentimental display of af- 
fection is nauseating.” 

One morning when Cecil was busily engaged 
in letter writing Count Von Halz was ushered 
into her presence. With flowery speech he 
poured out his plaintive yearnings. He ad- 
dressed her as “Zezil — dear, beautiful Zezil, mit 
de lufly eyes, so bright wie de chewels on her 
lufly svan Croat!” while a strange moisture filled 
his pale eyes. Finding no response the scalp be- 
neath his yellow locks grew rosy. He had not 
anticipated defeat, for his title in the past had 
made him a conqueror among American women. 
He caressed his scar, but instead of exciting the 
perverse girl’s admiration, it led her to appre- 
hend that the student’s sword had inflicted an 
injury upon her suitor’s cranium deeper than a 
mere scalp wound. 

Von Halz arose from the half recumbent atti- 
tude he had assumed while suffering no doubts, 
and for a moment stood erect in the position of 
a soldier bravely facing defeat. 


Comedy of Petty Conflicts 141 

'Then you refuse me, Mademoiselle ?” he 
whispered hoarsely. 

“Beyond a doubt, I refuse you, sir !” cried Ce- 
cil, her voice trembling, and she withered him 
with a haughty glance. 

Greedy of gain, the man’s bravery gave way 
to servility, and he sank upon his knees. “Few 
women,” he said, “would not feel flattered to be 
de mistress of a count, and I offer you honorable 
marriage. Be my wife.” He attempted to place 
his arms around her, but with a sneer she evaded 
him. 

“You are proud spirited, Mademoiselle; you 
spurn my humility. Did Cheesus Christ tell you 
to do dat?” 

Cecil ignored the sacreligious question, while 
her eyes flashed with indignation. “End this 
scene, if you please,” she said quietly. “I have 
no desire to be the heroine of a romance with 
you. This salon is private. Leave my pres- 
ence.” 

Von Halz’s patience and eloquence were ex- 
hausted, and he resolved to try new tactics. “I 
am not so easily defeated,” he declared stoutly. 
“I vill not go until I get vat I vant.” 

“Ah,” rejoined Cecil, “that alters the case. 
Here is what you want, and all that your title is 
worth.” She suddenly opened her handbag and 
showered him with a handful of sous and cen- 
times. At that moment Douglas Barrymore 
passed by the low window. Her cheeks grew 
crimson, and she wondered if he had seen the 
performance and heard the proposal. 

Her thoughts were interrupted by Von Halz, 


142 Comedy of Petty Conflicts 

who said vehemently: ‘Til never cease to adore 
you, nor resign de hope of vinning you, my prout 
beauty.” Again the count picked himself up 
and toddled toward her. In a tragic manner 
he reached out his arms, and called her “Sweed- 
h’a’t,” and “cruel siren.” As he advanced Cecil 
retreated until she could go no further, and as 
she drew her hands behind her she touched the 
bell. Again he went down on his knees before 
her ladyship, but at that moment the door opened 
and an attendant waited in questioning attitude. 

“Show this gentleman out,” commanded Cecil 
curtly. The rejected suitor scrambled awkward- 
ly to his feet, and with one backward, angry 
glance, hurried from her presence. 

A moment later Madam Bellot entered the 
room. 

“Why, Cecil, what is the matter?” she asked. 
“You look as if you didn’t know whether to 
laugh or cry.” 

“I will wear no more diamonds !” declared the 
girl passionately, and she burst into tears, for 
she thought of Barrymore. 


Comedy of Petty Conflicts 


143 


CHAPTER XX. 

WHEN LOVE IS SATIATED. 

Wendell, as the captain of the Rifle Guards, 
made a dashing display. He discharged his du- 
ties with whole-souled generosity, and upon oc- 
casions regally entertained his brother officers. 
He was a splendid figure on parade, when in 
full dress uniform, he led his men to the meas- 
ured music of a brass band. Patriotic women 
gazed fascinated upon the debonair young offi- 
cer, and his eyes flashed into their midst with 
fatal effect. He was fully conscious of his own 
power of conquest, and he regarded the taking 
of a feminine citadel as his masculine right. 

Each gala day ended with a champagne fete, 
at which the captain drank to the bewitching eyes 
and rosy cheeks of “woman, peerless woman!” 
With rakish eyes and oily tongue he held high 
the crystal cup, and made gallant speech, while 
his wife, at home, held a cup of another kind, 
from which she fed his second child with Mel- 
lin’s food. When, in glittering regimentals, the 
imperious conqueror proudly led his company 
on the march, the girl he had married, arrayed 
in a faded gown, helped to cook his dinner; and 
sometimes when not sewing or rocking the cra- 
dle, she watched him with loving eyes from the 


144 Comedy of Petty Conflicts 

lattice blind. Her pride in him was born of 
idolatrous love. In the grand military balls she 
would gladly have figured as a wall fixture in 
order to see and admire him, but she remembered 
that other women would share his attentions, and 
the thought was poison to her cup of joy. So 
she remained at home. 

People did not wonder that she was neglected, 
for she received such attentions as were offered 
her with absolute indifference, while her eyes 
followed Wendell’s every movement. This was 
not stimulating to masculine vanity, and her 
admirers soon found more appreciative company. 
Thus Theo became averse to society, and was 
far happier at home in anticipating her hus- 
band’s coming, than in seeing him during his 
lordly reign. 

On a certain military occasion Wendell, intoxi- 
cated by bright eyes and the pressure of soft 
hands, indulged in so much artillery punch and 
champagne that he lost his head as well as his 
heart. At two o’clock in the morning he swag- 
gered into his home, where he was received with 
affectionate solicitude. Theo looked upon him 
with wonder, love and fear, for it was his first 
offense of the kind. 

“Darling, are you ill?” she questioned. 

“No — ah, no. Where are the kids?” he 
lisped, with the air of a devoted father, as he 
hung over the crib. He had never before held 
number two in his arms. Now he lifted it by 
the hem of the skirts, and slung it across his 
shoulder as if it were an empty sack. An up- 
heaval of nature followed, and a stream of lac- 


Comedy of Petty Conflicts 145 

teal fluid ran down the back of his elegant uni- 
form. 

"Why, hubby darling !” cried Theo. She 
sprang to his side, and rescued her babe; then, 
regardless of its pitiful cries, she replaced it in 
the crib. "You are certainly delirious with fever, 
my hubby; your eyes are red and swollen, and 
your manner unnatural. What is the matter ?” 
A great sob escaped her, and she began to weep 
softly. "Here is sand all over your coat — oh, 
dear! I shall ’phone for the doctor.” 

"No, you will not,” Wendell commanded. 

Suddenly she stared as though dumfounded. 
"Why, Rupert, here is a woman’s lace handker- 
chief in your pocket. And here are long gloves. 
You seem to be laden with women’s possessions.” 
A look of horror overspread her face. 

"If you don’t like my appearance, I’ll turn off 
the gas.” With a subdued hiccough he extin- 
guished the light, and she was left standing in 
darkness and dismay, while baby sobbed itself to 
sleep. Theo’s perplexity vaccilated between her 
husband’s intoxicated condition and the souve- 
nirs of his evening’s pleasure. She relit the gas 
and again stood before him. He sank dejectedly 
on the side of the bed, and feeling his guilt, evi- 
dently wished to do penance. 

"Dress yourself,” he said, "and we’ll call on 
Miss Flintof — fine old girl, that.” His eyes were 
fast closing in sleep. His hair was dishevelled, 
and perspiration poured from his impish face. 

"Miss Flintof!” repeated Theo, in blank 
amazement. "Oh, darling, what is the matter? 
Your dear, beautiful eyes are bruised and black- 
ened.” 


146 Comedy of Petty Conflicts 

“I punched a fellow because he tried to escort 
my girl home.” 

Theo’s eyes flashed, and with an impatient 
stamp of her bare delicate foot, she exclaimed: 
“It looks more like a ‘fellow’ punched you, sir!” 

“Oh, no; I had more punch than I could hold, 
so I poured it into him with this!” holding up 
his fist. 

“Surely, you have not been fighting, Rupert? 
You are ill from an overworked brain. Get to 
bed, dear. Your burdens have been too heavy 
for you.” 

“Yes — ’zactly; burdens,” responded Wendell; 
“my head is too heavy for me.” And this inter- 
esting member rolled from side to side in an 
affected manner, as he tried to wink at his reflec- 
tion in a mirror. 

Theo did not chide him; she removed his 
heavy uniform, and put him into bed as tenderly 
as though he were an infant. She bathed his 
swollen face, and watched over his heavy slum- 
bers, trying to devise an excuse for his liquor- 
laden breath. 

The next morning Theo lavished caresses on 
her prodigal husband, who, with big head and 
guilty conscience, was exceedingly deferential 
and affectionate. His agreeable moods were 
always hers, even when her rivals’ fascinations 
had raised his spirits almost to hilarity. She 
would fondle him, and flatter herself that she 
was the instigator of his happiness. Love had 
gained so complete a mastery over her that she 
was its slave, and as such her hold upon her hus- 
band’s affections was weakened. 


Comedy of Petty Conflicts 


147 


CHAPTER XXL 

BEYOND THE CLOUDS. 

A party of tourists departed from the Brevant 
in the month of July to ascend Mount Blanc. 
With the sturdy guides leading the way, and 
porters in attendance, the sure-footed mules 
started up the mountain incline. Cecil Dupree 
was perched picturesquely upon a sedate look- 
ing animal, while Barrymore and La fay rode be- 
side her. But this pleasure was short lived for 
Barrymore. Countess Duval, a vivacious beauty, 
declared that she was afraid to continue the 
daring adventure, unless reassured by his imme- 
diate presence. Pier piquant face and roguish 
eyes turned their witchery upon him, while Lady 
Irving, her English friend, loftily commanded 
him to remain near her “ungovernable beast/' 
So between the two ladies they managed to lure 
the young man from Cecil’s side, and later the 
countess secured to herself and held the coveted 
prize, in defiance of rivalry. 

Lafay persistently held his place beside Cecil, 
who, with unflinching courage, kept well in ad- 
vance of the other ladies of the party. He 
watched her with intense admiration, in her 
graceful use of the alpenstock, and when op- 
portunity offered, he availed himself of the bliss 


148 Comedy of Petty Conflicts 

of assisting her over rough passes. In the dense 
forests of fir and larch trees, and when on the 
sides of almost perpendicular walls of lichen- 
covered rocks, he was imbued with clinging ten- 
dencies — but it was not to the rocks he tried to 
cling. The murmur of the thread-like water- 
falls, coursing musically to the valley below, 
thrilled his heart with strange palpitations. 
Through mazy passes, by roaring rapids, and in 
secluded vales, where nature reveled in luxuri- 
ant festoons, and made picturesque bowers from 
which even the sunlight was excluded, he lost no 
opportunity to vent his fiery ardor, which Cecil 
cooled at every gush. So he was forced to be 
content with silent adoration, and await an occa- 
sion more suited to her ladyship’s wilful fancy. 

The countess also felt the pangs of unrequited 
love. She wore a languishing air of sedateness, 
sighed frequently, and in dulcet tones appealed 
to Barrymore: “Ah, it is in scenes of this kind 
that love should find birth. Here a woman’s soul 
would awaken to the call of love.” 

“Yes, Madam, the scene is inspiring,” replied 
he, abstractedly. His eyes wandered from her 
pleading orbs to follow Cecil in the distance. 
He wondered if the young American girl was 
trifling with the Frenchman’s affections, as Bar- 
rymore firmly believed she had been doing with 
those of Von Halz. 

When Glacier des Bosson was reached the ex- 
ertion of climbing presently ceased. The way 
was extremely rough, but afforded solid foot- 
hold. There were many crevasses, some of 
which could be stepped over, while others were 


Comedy of Petty Conflicts 149 

so deep and wide as to strike the beholder with 
terror. The fissures were changing constantly 
with the retreating or advancing motion of the 
glacier. When the party was further up the 
mountain a crash was heard, which sounded like 
the boom of artillery. The guides explained 
that it was caused by new cracks in the glacier 
over which they had passed. 

At “Les Grands Mulcts ” a halt was made. 
The porters spread rugs, and when the party had 
formed a social circle wine and other refresh- 
ments were served. One of the guides, Fran- 
cois Ducroz, told droll stories of ghostly carni- 
val held on the heights at that season. Francois 
was powerfully built; years of training in moun- 
tain feats had made his sinews and muscles like 
bundles of wire. Fie stood on a jagged rock in 
the ice, and with the eye of an eagle looked up 
and waved his hat in the direction of Mt. Blanc's 
summit. 

“Tombstone of thousands that are buried be- 
neath its glaciers!" he cried. “The loud crashes 
heard in these parts are caused by malicious spir- 
its which hurl down avalanches with the hope 
of burying the living who traverse the graves 
where the bodies of these ghosts lie wedged in 
the ice. When the moon shines from the east, 
shiveringly they glide in weird, fantastic dances 
over the glacier. Their pallid faces peep from 
dark crevasses, their voices shriek from hidden 
cliffs. What are called sudden gusts are the 
spirits which rush en masse in a shroud of snow, 
blind their victims, and dash the unfortunates 


150 Comedy of Petty Conflicts 

over crag and precipice. The 'Alpine echo* is 
their mocking laugh! 0 

The countess shivered, gave a little shriek, 
and nestled close beside Barrymore. Others of 
the party feigned belief in the gruesome story, 
and eagerly questioned the mysteries of moun- 
tain superstition. 

Ducroz concluded by warning the tourists of 
the fatal sleep known in Alpine regions. "It 
comes when the unseen spirits lay their icy fin- 
gers on the traveler. Resist it! Fight it!” he 
shouted with wild gesture, as he paced restlessly 
over the crusted snow, scattering ice. "The 
ghosts turn the sun’s rays into the fires of Hades 
and scorch their victims while on the ice.”* 

Cecil was charmed with the novelty of ad- 
venture, as hour after hour she struggled on- 
ward and upward. Most of the ladies of the 
party were overcome by fear when borne aloft 
with ropes, but she passed through the experi- 
ence with the glee of a child. She never grew 
weary until the grand plateau was reached, and 
she stood watching an avalanche in its downward 
sweep of destruction. Very soon after this a 
halt was made for the night at the "cabane,” on 
the Arguille du Gouter. 

At sunrise the ascension from the grand 
plateau was resumed. At Les Petits Mulets the 
ice was fissured, and extremely difficult to cross. 
Two guides preceded the party, and with their 
peolies dug footholds in the ice, while the other 


*This superstition is due to the great heat 
upon the glaciers in fine weather. 


Comedy of Petty Conflicts 151 

ones were kept busy leading, steadying and lift- 
ing the ladies over dangerous places. The party 
now moved slowly, for rapid progress was not 
possible in this rare atmosphere. 

Barrymore was an adept in the use of an ice- 
axe. He did not depend on the ropes, preferring 
Balmat’s original way of climbing. He could 
scale the steep inclines almost with the agility of 
a mountain peasant. While at Refuge Vallot he 
gently broke through the meshes of captivity 
with which the countess had fettered him since 
the early hours of the climb, and with deter- 
mination he moved w r arily in Cecil’s direction. 
But the countess was not the woman to give up 
an advantage easily, and Lafay cleverly con- 
trived to assist the lady. 

“Mon Dieu, Monsieur Barrymore !” he cried, 
“regardez la comtesse — die est malade!” He 
then rushed to Cecil’s side, assumed an attitude 
of protection, and in his excitement performed 
almost an Indian war dance around her. 

The countess, with the grace of an actress, 
had collapsed, and she gaspingly called for 
“Monsieur Barrymore!” w T ho promptly obeyed 
the summons. He kneeled beside her, drew off 
her gloves, chafed her hands, and then adminis- 
tered a stimulant, regardless of strength or 
quantity. But the lady made no effort to re- 
cover from her languor, so he lifted her to a 
standing posture. 

“Exert yourself, I entreat you, Madam!” he 
said sternly. 

She closed her eyes; then, with a plaintive lit- 
tle sob, her head sank lightly upon his shoulder. 


15 2 Comedy of Petty Conflicts 

“Wait a minute,” she pleaded. “I — am — so— 
tired.” 

Barrymore’s face flushed crimson, and reso- 
lutely he resigned the willowy form to Lady 
Irving’s care; then he rejoined Cecil. 

“No right, monsieur, no right!” spoke Lafay; 
“I am Mademoiselle Dupree’s escort.” 

Barrymore seemed neither to see nor to hear 
the Frenchman, and much to the fiery little fel- 
low’s annoyance, and the disappointment of the 
countess, Barrymore managed to hold his place 
beside Cecil as they neared the summit. 

With a menacing gesture Lafay warned Cecil, 
in a stage whisper, “Zis will cause ze fight! Do 
you hear, ze fight!” 

He hurriedly scribbled something on a card, 
presented it to Barrymore, and remarked: “Af- 
faire d’honneur, a V oatrance !” 

Barrymore looked him over, and good-natured- 
ly replied: “ Guerre d mort, Dieu avec nous!” 

Lafay then betook himself to comfort the dis- 
consolate countess, who had suddenly lost inter- 
est in the climb, and deplored her folly in under- 
taking so dangerous an adventure. 

At last — at last Cecil stood alone with Barry- 
more in the observatory of Mount Blanc. The 
sun’s slanting rays made gorgeously tinted rain- 
bows below them, touching the crystal panorama 
with rare beauty and wonder. The dazzling snow 
contrasted vividly with the dark skies of the 
loftier regions. The young couple were above 
those mighty peaks, and formidable Arguilles le 
midi, 1’ Argentine le Geant; and far, far below 
were the fertile plains of Lombardy, in Italy, and 


Comedy of Petty Conflicts 153 

those of France. They viewed the cities and 
towns which, in the distance, seemed mere specks. 

Cecil's climb had completely shaken down the 
wealth of her bright hair, and it fell in sweeping 
coils far below her waist, seeming to blaze about 
her like molten copper. Her childlike face was 
wreathed in smiles, and though her lips and face 
were slightly swollen, she was not disfigured by 
the trying atmosphere, as people often are when 
in that altitude. She felt a delicious thrill of 
happiness, a nameless charm exerted over her. 

As Barrymore feasted his eyes on the glorious 
specimen of girlhood and womanhood combined 
he, too, felt that subtle enchantment which reason 
cannot define. When love speaks through the 
eyes its message is one of purity and peace; it 
receives its more earthly coloring when clothed 
in speech. 

Barrymore’s heart beat rapidly as he saw her 
face glow and soften under his smile. A vague 
dream of a future by her side, of days which she 
could fill with ecstacy made him forget all else 
but the exquisite creature before him. Stimu- 
lated by the beauty of the scene, the fine quality 
of the air, and the isolation of their position, he 
might have told her of his feelings; but at that 
moment the dreamers were interrupted by other 
members of the party, who joined them with 
commonplace exclamations of delight over the 
wonderful scenery below. 

Later, in recalling the perilous events, and dis- 
cussing with Barrymore the glories of the adven- 
ture, Cecil laughingly remarked: “What a pecu- 
liar effect the atmosphere of great altitudes has 


154 Comedy of Petty Conflicts 

upon the mind. It clothes everything with ro- 
mance, and even invests a peasant guide with pic- 
turesque and sentimental heroism.” 

Barrymore regarded the girl steadfastly, and 
his face darkened. “The manly guide,” he re- 
plied earnestly, “would have been an improve- 
ment on your very insignificant display of the 
French soldiery. The chap bade me fall in line 
to the challenge of his tin sword yesterday; and, 
armed with a keen little switch, I went forth to 
battle.” 

Strangely alike were the independent and in- 
trepid spirits of Cecil and Barrymore. Had he 
been a man of weaker will he would not have 
commanded her admiration. But while she rec- 
ognized the strength of his masterful nature, she 
knew his sympathies to be as tender as those of 
a woman. In short, she had found her ideal 
man, and the revelation set her at enmity with 
herself. 


Comedy of Petty Conflicts 


155 


CHAPTER XXII. 
a frenchman's wooing. 

Cecil was in a constant glow of enthusiasm 
over her magnificent scenic surroundings. She 
loved nature in these large and rugged phases, 
and she felt that she would enjoy solitude among 
the white glacial sweeps. To make the ascension 
of a summit unattended she knew was impos- 
sible; but to cross the Mer de Glace without a 
guide suggested to her fearless nature a pleas- 
ant adventure. 

The night was a dream of loveliness as she 
looked from her balcony to the peaks and needles. 
The moon's rays fell upon the heights with an 
Alpine glow, so bewitching and delicate as to 
appeal in a startling way to the imagination. 
While under the spell of enchantment she quietly 
gave the night clerk orders for the following 
day, advised Madam Bellot that she would be 
off for an early climb, and would not return un- 
til afternoon. She then made her preparations 
for the trip and retired. 

While Chamouni still lay in silence, and shad- 
ows of night were giving way to the flush of 
dawn, Cecil departed for her solitary escapade, 
and daylight found her well out of the town. 
Her animal carried her carefully along, as if 


156 Comedy of Petty Conflicts 

realizing his responsibility. After hours of steady 
climbing the glittering sea of ice opened to her 
view. She found the cabane where previously 
she had left her mule. Here she dismounted, 
secured him, and hastened away before she 
was seen by the peasants. 

The sun gleams turned the Mer de Glace into 
a crystalline sea of flashing gems. Elated and 
charmed with her freedom, the girl sprang for- 
ward on her upward course, but not in the direc- 
tion she had taken before. Her eyes were lifted 
to the gem-studded towers above her, which had 
witnessed the passing of centuries. They seemed 
to her exhilarated fancy the very doorsteps to 
Paradise itself, as they lured her onward with 
their beckoning fingers. 

“Oh, it is so wonderful — so wonderful!” she 
cried aloud, flinging wide her arms, and bursting 
into joyous song. But when Mount Blanc, grim 
and sullen, obscured his hoary head in dark 
clouds, as if in solemn warning, a feeling of 
awe stole over the girl. Still she gave no thought 
to the danger of the situation ; nor did she realize 
that in these regions directions which are appa- 
rently so easily followed, are very delusive. But 
at length it dawned upon her that she had lost 
her way, and her peril presented itself to her 
with all its horror. She stood still for a moment, 
overcome by a feeling of helplessness. Then, 
mastering her alarm, she bravely endeavored to 
retrace her footsteps — to find some imprint in 
the glacier by which to regain her lost course. 
But each attempt proved a failure. A crevasse 
on one side, a horrible fissure on the other 


Comedy of Petty Conflicts 157 

stopped her passage. Every step took her into 
craggy edges of ice. She wandered aimlessly for 
what seemed to her a very long time, and then 
she began to shiver, and soon became numbed 
with cold. The fatal drowsiness known to those 
who have been exposed to similar peril overpow- 
ered her. No amount of will power could resist 
its frigid hold, and as she struggled onward, 
death seemed to tighten a relentless grip upon 
her, and she sank beneath it. 

Cecil did not die; she recovered consciousness 
to find herself in a peasant’s cabane, with the 
family around her. In their excitement they had 
used cogent restoratives, and had given full fling 
to their superstitious ideas of treating such cases. 
Half dazed, Cecil imagined that she was at the 
mercy of savages, with whom resistance would 
be of little avail. But her splendid vitality soon 
began to reassert itself, and her head cleared 
when she heard a loud rap on the door. It was 
opened hastily, and Barrymore appeared on the 
scene, wearing a stern and worried look. In- 
tuitively the peasants understood, and left him 
alone with Cecil. 

“Why did you do this imprudent thing?” he 
asked, bending over her in a tender, caressing 
way. His warm breath on her cheek seemed to 
give her new life, while his reproachful eyes 
searched her secret thoughts. Involuntarily his 
face nestled down to hers, and the electric thrill 
of his touch aroused her completely. 

“Did you dare to follow me?” she asked. 

“I dared to come to the Mer de Glace.” 

She made a slight effort to free herself from 


158 Comedy of Petty Conflicts 

his mesmeric touch, and, as a dainty flush swept 
over her face, and her pulses quickened, he fan- 
cied that he saw in true perspective life, love and 
joy. 

Cecil felt humiliated because of her adventure’s 
defeat; and the fact that he had witnessed it 
wounded her pride. Furthermore, she suffered 
a pang of disappointment when she was told that 
not Barrymore, but a peasant guide had dragged 
her away from danger in a most ungraceful 
fashion. 

At three o’clock, with Barrymore as her es- 
cort, she was ready to commence the journey 
back to Chamouni. The two rode in reserved 
silence for some time, and then Cecil was the 
first to speak. 

“How did you, Mr. Barrymore, chance to be 
here this morning? It was a remarkable coinci- 
dence.” 

“A providential happening that the brave 
guide went to your rescue, and that I am here 
to see you safely home,” he replied evasively. 
He did not inform her that he had witnessed her 
lonely departure from Chamouni and, fearful 
that she would fall into danger, had watched her 
progress through the telescope ; and that when he 
saw her heading for the Mer de Glace, he had 
followed with all possible speed. Digressing 
from the point she wished to gain, he earnestly 
requested her never again to be so reckless. 
“Promise, will you?” he questioned. 

“I do promise never again to be so impru- 
dent,” she replied; and when she thanked him 
for his kindly interest her voice thrilled him. 


Comedy of Petty Conflicts 159 

She held out her hand, and a tremulous move- 
ment of her chin betrayed her emotion. 

Barrymore did not take the offered hand, but 
regarded her steadfastly. “I think that you need 
a guide in more places than mountain passes. 
Miss Dupree. You are wilful and inexperienced. 
Why are you masquerading as an heiress ?” he 
asked abruptly. 

Cecil drew a quick breath, and her face went 
pale; but her pride was equal to the emergency. 
With flashing eyes, and a dawn of crimson on 
her cheeks, she coldly questioned: “Were you 
disappointed when your curiosity was satisfied? 
Is that the cause of your recent — indifference — 
to— me?” Her lips curved in scorn, and her 
voice became choked. 

“Possibly — that — is — the — reason,” drawled 
Barrymore, as a sarcastic smile overspread his 
face. “With me, Miss Dupree, your secret is 
safe — your prospect for winning a title unim- 
peached. The love of your bloated adorer, Von 
Halz, is sincere, although your reputed wealth 
may have its inducements for him. A happy fu- 
ture, and my hearty congratulations.” 

“Thanks,” responded Cecil vehemently. “Of 
course his love is sincere. And, Douglas Barry- 
more, I hate you! We shall never be friends. 
Your sarcastic taunts are beneath a gentleman, 
sir.” 

When the couple arrived in Chamouni, Lafay 
and Von Halz were strutting up and down the 
terrace in opposite directions, evidently in sus- 
pense at Cecil's long absence, and ready to pay 
knee tribute at the first glimmer of her smile- 


160 Comedy of Petty Conflicts 

But there was no light in her eye for them as she 
rode slowly up the driveway. Her pale face bore 
evidence to her angry, unhappy spirit. 

A deep sense of pain and disappointment 
stirred within the breast of Barrymore. “If she 
had only denied the charge !” he groaned in- 
wardly. For the first time jealousy swept over 
him with volcanic fury as he saw the count ap- 
proaching Cecil. She deliberately beckoned to 
the delighted Von Halz, who, with all the glory 
of victory written on his sunset countenance, 
accelerated his toddling footsteps. This prefer- 
ence set La fay to prancing up and down, as a 
refractory pony. When Von Halz reached her 
side and affectionately held out his arms to Ce- 
cil, Barrymore muttered “Fool !” and pushed him 
aside with one firm jostle. 

Cecil was startled by the determination in Bar- 
rymore’s angry eyes, and in the tone of his voice. 
She felt his complete mastery, and allowed him 
to lift her to the ground. 

“Forgive me, Eidelweiss, my Alpine flower !” 
he whispered tenderly. 

With undefined emotions of joy and pain the 
girl fled to the privacy of her own apartments. 

At dinner Barrymore seemed in unusually gay 
spirits. He gave his entire attention to the ap- 
preciative Countess Duval, whom he afterward 
escorted to a rustic bench in the courtyard. 
From her window Cecil could see them under 
the trees, where they sat in earnest conversation. 
The green lights reflected on them made a pretty 
picture, but Cecil found no pleasure in the sight. 
She crossed the room, and from another window 


Comedy of Petty Conflicts 161 

looked away to the far peaks and needles, and 
watched their impenetrable shadows in the val- 
leys below. But the tranquility of those lofty 
regions brought no peace to her perturbed mind. 

“Those wretched jewels !” she said to herself. 
“I wish that I had never seen them. Why did 
Madam Bellot represent me as her heiress? Oh, 
horrible !” She hurried to the piano, where she 
sat idly composing weird strains of melody. She 
felt a yearning for some presence, and then 
blushed. “What are you calling for, oh my 
heart ?” she softly questioned. 

A gentle rap on the door caused her to start 
guiltily. But there was joy in her voice as she 
called, “Entrez!” The door opened, and Lafay 
came forward, making the young lady a pro- 
found military obeisance. 

“Bon soir, mademoiselle ; comment vous portez- 
vous?” 

“Bon soir , monsieur ; trcs bien , merci ” replied 
Cecil, with chill dignity. 

With the quick grace of the Frenchman, Lafay 
raised Mademoiselle's hand to his lips, then clung 
to it as if the sweetness of its touch intoxicated 
him. “Coeur de mon coeur!” he cried. 

“Parlez Anglaise,” she interrupted, withdraw- 
ing her hand. 

“I once more fall before you. Resist my 
pleadings no longer. I die of despair at your 
indifference. I soar on wings of rapture at your 
smile. Stop — listen — you shall!" he cried, once 
more possessing himself of her hand. “Hear me 
while I pour out to you my undying love!” He 
knelt in theatrical humility. 


1 62 Comedy of Petty Conflicts 

“Reserve your ardor for a more responsive 
woman, I implore you !” exclaimed Cecil impa- 
tiently. “It is wasted here, and I entreat you to 
desist.” She retreated a step, regarding him 
with cold eyes and a haughty smile. 

“Let me die here,” he whispered excitedly, 
“rather than live elsewhere.” 

“Get up,” said Cecil, imperiously. 

Slowly he arose, and stood for a moment in 
silence, shaken by a storm of passion. He then 
caught his breath, held out his arms, and again 
burst forth: “Come to ze heart zat is bursting 
wiz love for you, my darling!” he almost 
screamed, reaching for her. His breast heaved 
until the stiff plastrons of gold on his coat glis- 
tened under the chandelier. 

Cecil made a movement as if to go from the 
room, but La fay sprang to the door. 

“One moment, for God’s sake!” he entreated; 
and then, in his fascinating way and musical ac- 
cents he once more poured forth in rapid elo- 
quence the burden of his love, while witn every 
word he edged nearer to the object of his devo- 
tion. 

“Are you mad?” cried Cecil excitedly, draw- 
ing herself away in forbidding dignity. “Stop 
where you are, Monsieur; do not come a step 
nearer.” He paused and looked at her, aston- 
ished by her determination. “Forgive me if I 
pain you, Monsieur. I thank you for the honor 
you confer, but I do not love you — cannot love 
you — will not love you. I can never be more to 
you than a dream.” 

Powerless to resist her enchantment, he turned 


Comedy of Petty Conflicts 163 

aside, and indulged in a childlike burst of tears. 
His recent flow of eloquence had almost ex- 
hausted the reserve force of his brain. As a last 
resort he unsheathed an imaginary sword, and 
swore vengeance upon the man who should suc- 
ceed in winning what he had lost. “Lost!” he 
repeated, as he swayed backward, and raised his 
hands to his temples, as though his sufferings 
were unbearable. “To slay my rival would so- 
lace this black hour of unutterable woe!” 

“Jack the giant killer,” heartlessly observed 
Cecil, smiling mischievously as she recalled Bar- 
rymore's description of the duel. 

“ Oui , Mademoiselle, scoff if you will!” he cried 
in his frenzy, scarcely responsible for what he 
said. “I stand before you ze grandfazer of a 
cavalier of ze ancient regime. My glory is to 
maintain zer dignity and bravery; and my boast 
and pride is in our conqueror, Napoleon, whose 
equal in history is unknown. I feel honored — 
even to stand guard over his sacred ashes !” 

“Good for his peace of mind that he cannot 
awaken and see you,” sighed the sarcastic girl. 

Lafay loved in a mad, wild fashion, but he 
could be as loyal to the cause of his country as 
he was to that of his lady love; and her hint at 
the deterioration of Napoleon's soldiers went like 
a sword thrust to his pride and patriotism. With 
electric flashes from his dark eyes, and without 
further parley, he bowed himself out of the 
room, rushed wildly to his apartment, packed his 
effects, and the next morning found him on his 
way to Paris. 

Von Halz soon followed, his mercenary air- 
castles tumbled into a pitiful wreck. 


104 


Comedy of Petty Conflicts 


CHAPTER XXIII. 

FAREWELL TO EIDELWEISS. 

Throughout the valley of Chamouni, and on 
the heights beneath the snow line, the autumnal 
tints were merged into gorgeous colors. Tour- 
ists were departing, for the season was drawing 
toward its close. 

Cecil stood on the balcony of her room one 
afternoon at sunset. A joyous sparkle was in 
her eyes, and the softest flush was on her cheeks. 
Had she questioned herself as to the cause of 
her happiness she might have found an answer 
which her pride would deny. An hour previous, 
as she sang softly to the piano accompaniment, 
she had felt a presence; and when she turned to 
look, Barrymore stood beside her. When she 
ceased singing he took her hands in his, and bent 
over her. His voice was full of mellow music, 
and his expressive eyes spoke volumes of affec- 
tion. Cecil had found herself growing weak in 
the warmth of his overpowering magnetism, and 
with a deprecating gesture she had hurriedly 
withdrawn from his presence. 

"There is to be an impromptu dance at the 
Beau-Rivage to-night, Cecil,” Madam Bellot re- 
minded the girl. "Remember that you have 
promised to attend, and you have given no 


Comedy of Petty Conflicts 165 

thought as to what you will wear. Positively, 
you are the most indifferent child to your per- 
sonal appearance that ever lived. Your ambition 
never soars beyond neatness/’ 

“Oh, anything will do,” replied Cecil abstract- 
edly. 

“ ‘Anything’ will not do,” corrected Madam. 
“I must insist on your wearing that Venetian, lace 
over rose silk; and for ornaments there are the 
diamonds which we have recently had reset with 
pearls.” 

In a moment Cecil was aroused. “No more 
jewels — no more sailing under false colors for 
me, dear Madam,” she replied. “I will to-night 
appear in my own poverty-stricken personality. 
I will wear my chiffon gown; and, instead of 
jewels, I will wear flowers — wild flowers, at that 
— those dainty blue forget-me-nots which 
sprinkle the valley and hillside.” 

Madam Bellot knew full well that entreaty 
would avail nothing, so after a few groans and 
sighs, she became reconciled. 

Cecil was the incarnation of purity and beauty 
in her snowy gown, with sweeping train. Her 
plump arms were revealed from her shoulders, 
and her rounded neck was bare. Madam Bellot 
had provided her with an abundance of lilies of 
the valley, which she wore in lieu of the wild 
blossoms. When, with her chaperon, she ap- 
peared in the salon, she entered naturally into 
the gayeties with all the buoyancy of youth. 

Barrymore came late, and the evening was 
far spent when he approached Cecil, after he had 
made a social round of the salon, in his natural. 


166 Comedy of Petty Conflicts 

easy manner. Cecil thought that he seemed in- 
different to her presence. She felt piqued by 
his neglect, and glanced often in his direction. 
That they were to part that night recurred to 
her with startling suggestiveness. When, at 
length, in company with a stranger he drew 
near, she breathed a covert sigh of relief. 

“Miss Dupree,” he said, “my friend, Lieuten- 
ant Reed, of the U. S. N., desires an introduc- 
tion to you. May I present him?” Soon after 
this Barrymore bowed, and gave place to the 
stranger. 

Cecil touched Barrymore's arm with her fan. 
“You have not asked me to dance with you, Mr. 
Barrymore,” she said, “and I have only two va- 
cancies on my card. I feel that I owe you some 
concession for your bravery in the Mer de Glace 
incident.” 

“Is that the reason you would dance with me?” 
He looked at her sternly. She smiled, and hand- 
ed him her card. He wrote his name for the 
closing dance, and walked away with the count- 
ess, who hovered near. 

Cecil heard the lieutenant's flattering speeches 
in rather an indifferent manner, until Barry- 
more's name was mentioned, when she became 
more interested. 

“At two o'clock,” said the lieutenant, “Barry- 
more and I go with a student party for a glo- 
rious climb to the summit of Mount Blanc. It 
will be my first ascent of that peak; but for him 
it will be no novelty.” 

“How I envy you!” exclaimed Cecil, delight- 
edly. 


Comedy of Petty Conflicts 167 

“Envy me — what ?” teasingly inquired her 
companion; “my climb, or my friend ?” 

“Why, your climb, of course ?” she said shak- 
ing her head, and trying to frown severely; but 
the flush that dyed her cheeks betrayed her con- 
fusion. 

“Your blush is bewitching, Miss Dupree, and 
keeps me wondering which you really did mean.” 

“Be careful,” she advised unconcernedly, “for 
danger surrounds every footstep as you near the 
summit.” 

“Oh, I don't regard the ascent as so extremely 
perilous, nor do I make my will before I start, as 
was a custom in the olden time,” he laughed. 

The band struck up a two-step. 

“This is our dance,” said the lieutenant, and 
away they glided. 

The final waltz began dreamily, its music 
forming a bitterly sweet memory for coming 
days. Barrymore was on hand. “Shall we 
dance?” he asked, as he looked toward the in- 
viting seats outside. 

“Oh, please!” replied Cecil. 

He concealed his disappointment. But as he 
placed his arm about her, it trembled slightly. 
“Anywhere to be with her,” he thought; for 
with his closing opportunity pride refused to veil 
the one desire of his heart. 

When the music ceased the usual stir of leave- 
taking buzzed throughout the rooms. Barry- 
more led Cecil through the conservatory, and 
out: l>eyond the terrace among the trees. The 
ni{rh: was throbbing with rapture. The full moon 
sound high in the heavens, dimming the light of 


i68 Comedy of Petty Conflicts 

the stars, and radiating a mystic glow over the 
surrounding peaks. The rhythmic rush of the 
Arve over its rocky bed filled the night with 
music. The air was languorously laden with 
nature’s mingled perfumes. Near the bridge 
where first he had seen Cecil, Barrymore paused. 

“Here,” he said, “we will linger for a moment, 
and say good-bye. I could not part with you in 
the glare of the salon, because I wish to remem- 
ber you as I see you in nature’s light, my sweet 
Alpine flower. Pardon me, but that name suits 
you. You seem to thrive in an atmosphere of 
ice.” There was a touch of melancholy on his 
fine face, and his eyes were wistful as they 
searched Cecil’s face. She hung her head and 
absently toyed with the flowers she wore. 

“I leave for our climb within the next hour,” 
Barrymore continued. “I shall not see you again, 
as Reed and I shall start immediately for Gene- 
va upon our return to Chamouni. I would ask 
you a question — much depends on your reply. 
Is our parting to be forever, or is it to be of 
short duration?” There was a burning light in 
his eyes as the last words escaped his lips. 

Cecil sighed almost inaudible, and remained 
silent. 

“Words are unnecessary if you will look into 
my eyes, Eidelweiss, and let yours reply.” He 
waited, but not even a glance stimulated his 
hopes. “I am waiting, dear heart. Shall I, on 
the threshold of the mystic real of love, stand 
defeated ?” 

In the white glow of the moon Cecil stood dike 


Comedy of Petty Conflicts 169 

a marble statue. No voluntary movement dis- 
turbed her cold reserve. Her filmy wrap slipped 
from her shoulders, and displayed their tempting 
loveliness. He fancied that he detected a slight 
heaving of her softly throbbing bosom, and that 
her warm blood pulsed visibly through her red, 
chaste lips. A world of yearning looked from 
her starry eyes as she watched the glittering 
peaks. Her silence was maddening, but Barry- 
more controlled his pride as he did his great pas- 
sion for the girl. Her unresponsive manner en- 
hanced the value of the happiness he craved. 
She was deliciously tempting, as the unattainable 
always is to man. 

“See, Mount Blanc frowns upon your silence,” 
said Barrymore, for suddenly the summit of that 
wonderful mountain was obscured by a pall of 
black clouds, while none others were to be seen 
in the moonlit skies. A shiver passed over Cecil 
as she gazed upon it. 

“Good-bye, Miss Dupree. I am detaining you 
in the chill air.” He held out his hand in a reso- 
lute manner. 

“Good-bye,” she faltered, as she gave him her 
fingers. 

He drew her cape around her, offered her his 
arm, and slowly they passed down the mazy path. 
Then, at the steps, she whispered a lingering, 
low good-night, which meant good-bye forever. 

Later, from her window, Cecil watched the 
party gather on the terrace, saw the guides ap- 
proach, and heard Barrymore's familiar voice. 
How strangely musical it sounded. She could 




170 Comedy of Petty Conflicts 

see him now. His cap was pushed back from 
his brow, and as he lighted his cigar his face for 
a moment was turned toward her window. With 
feelings of sadness and yearning she watched 
him while he mounted and rode away, and until 
he was lost to sight. 


Comedy of Petty Conflicts 




CHAPTER XXIV. 

A GRAVE IN ALPINE SNOW. 

Apparently, Barrymore was the jolliest mem- 
ber of the party. He strove determinedly to ban- 
ish all thoughts of bewitching Cecil. "Absence 
will soon obliterate the memory of this mysteri- 
ous dream,” he told himself. And under the 
poignant pangs of wounded pride he succeeded 
in holding the mastery of his emotions. 

The following day, toward sunset, when the 
party halted for rest at Petits Mulets, his 
thoughts reverted with bitterness to the time 
when he had stood with Cecil in this same spot. 
"How glorious the scene was then !” he thought ; 
"and now? Oh, why did her sweet eyes tell me 
the old story, when she did not intend to give 
me her heart?” 

These sad musings were interrupted by a 
guide, who in a loud voice proclaimed, "Weather 
aloft is bad !” 

Very soon there was a gust of snow. Clouds 
of midnight blackness settled over the summit, 
and then as suddenly broke in rifts, and revealed 
it. This warning decided the guides to retreat 
with the tourists to a refuge below, until the 
strange atmospheric vagaries should subside. But 
a heavy snow cloud overtook and burst upon 


172 Comedy of Petty Conflicts 

them with such great violence that their progress 
was impeded and their tracks obliterated. Then 
a snow-bank slid down the mountain side, so 
dense as to obscure the surroundings. With 
blinded vision the travelers tried to move slowly 
and cautiously, but some of the men took a di- 
rection too near the edge of the cliff, and at the 
moment a guide shouted to warn them of their 
danger an unobserved snow bridge beneath them 
gave way with a roaring, grinding crash, and 
they were hurled down, down over crag and 
precipice. The snow gully arose in tremendous 
clouds, enveloping the falling men’s forms, then 
returned in a hissing downpour, leaving behind a 
spiral mist, which vanished in vapory clouds. 

Lieutenant Reed was dazed with horror. Never 
had roar of cannon, nor flash of steel, nor ghastly 
carnage struck such terror to his heart as did 
that appalling disaster in its merciless disregard 
of human life. 

When the snow cloud was partly spent, and 
the scattered crowd brought together, it was 
found that five of the tourists were lost. The 
lieutenant gazed and listened for what he dreaded 
most to see and hear: Barrymore, his bosom 
friend, was among the missing. 

No time was wasted. With heroic effort the 
guides and the remainder of the party undertook 
to follow as closely as possible in the wake of 
the disaster; but little progress could be made. 
Three of the guides descended from where the 
ice bridge had given way. They saw the traces 
of the men’s rapid fall; they approached the 
edges of the yawning crevasses, on their hands 


Comedy of Petty Conflicts 173 

and knees; they shouted, but no answer came 
from the deep ice pits. The wind howled, and 
the snow circled around them in blinding tor- 
rents, threatening to cover them with its volumi- 
nous mantle. At length they resigned all hope 
of recovering the bodies of the doomed men, and 
sadly they turned their footsteps toward Cha- 
mouni. 

That town was in a state of excitement, for 
through the great telescope the fatal fall had 
been witnessed — another disaster added to the 
list which keeps dark the annals of Mount Blanc. 

Cecil received the dreadful tidings with won- 
derful calmness. To her they were too sad for 
words or tears. With white face she retired to 
the solitude of her chamber. The effort to con- 
ceal her feelings stifled her, and in the silence of 
midnight, with eyes burning and sleepless, she 
planned for an immediate departure from Cha- 
mouni. The next morning she conferred with 
Madam Bellot, who approved the suggestion. 

"The fearful accident has unnerved you, 
Cecil; for wasn’t Mr. Barrymore a very dear 
friend of yours?” she asked. 

"Yes — yes,” murmured Cecil, but no other 
confession escaped her lips. 

The last evening of her stay in Chamouni Ce- 
cil sat alone at twilight. Her head ached, and 
her temples throbbea to bursting. Vainly she 
strove to forget. Barrymore’s sad, reproachful 
eyes haunted her. Remorse shrieked in her ears. 
With a shudder she tried to turn from its merci- 
less cries. The burden of unshed tears was in- 
tolerable. 


174 Comedy of Petty Conflicts 

As she sat in dumb agony there arose on the 
evening air a woman’s sweet voice, which in sub- 
dued, almost sobbing accents, sang: 

“Could ye come back to me, Douglas, 

In the old likeness that I knew, 

I would be so faithful, so loving, 

Douglas, Douglas, tender and true.” 

It was Countess Duval singing. With Cecil 
the conflict was over. Tears, soothing and un- 
restrained, coursed down her cheeks and fell on 
her clasped hands. When she arose and threw 
open the blinds, Mount Blanc, in its chill gran- 
deur, seemed mightier and sterner than ever. 
The Arve did not sound gentle and musical to 
Cecil, as of yore. It was a fierce little messenger 
from glacial seas, bearing warning and despair 
in its hurried babble. All nature seemed hard 
and cruel. 

“Farewell, Douglas,” she whispered, “in a 
strange land I leave you. Friendship was weav- 
ing a chain of fairest flowers, which Fate has 
severed; and though dead and faded, they will 
ever garland the grave within my heart.” 

But Cecil tried bravely to stifle her anguish. 
She felt that to allow it to overwhelm her would 
be weak and selfish. She turned her thoughts to 
Madam Bellot, and noted that the old lady’s 
health had been materially benefited by the so- 
journ in Chamouni. The Madam had come to 
the conclusion that she had not outlived her use- 
fulness. For her there were no more idle days 
of discontent and repining. She was beginning 


Comedy of Petty Conflicts 175 

to take a human interest in the joys and sorrows 
of others; and in the performance of thought- 
ful, kindly deeds from time to time, her own ills 
were forgotten. 

"Until I met you, dear child,” she said to Cecil 
upon one occasion, "I did not know how to live. 
Before I learned to blush for shame afr my own 
Godless existence my soul was full of conflict. 
With the majority of people I was selfish, and 
when I was sated with pleasure the world be- 
came a wilderness of emptiness and unrest. My 
wealth could not procure happiness — not even 
contentment. Ah, I turn with a shudder from 
the picture of my own morbid imagination to the 
peaceful and comforting one drawn for me by 
your purity and faith. ” 

So Cecil was comforted. And the promise 
made her pupils decided her to sink her sorrow 
in the pursuit of her work among them. 

Once more she found herself in Campville. 
There Madam Bellot also spent much of her time, 
taking an interest in all that concerned people 
less fortunate than herself. In an unostentatious 
way she did a noble work in that byway of the 
world, where charity’s wild rush to the relief of 
foreign needs had left unrelieved pitiable cases 
of ignorance and suffering at home. 

No change had come to sleepy Campville dur- 
ing the travelers’ absence, except that the paro- 
chial flock now had no shepherd. The lamented 
Clayborn, while away on his summer’s vacation, 
had taken unto himself a wife, and upon her ar- 
rival in the village his glory waned, his power 
weakened. The hearts and pocketbooks of his 


T /6 Comedy of Petty Conflicts 

feminine worshippers were no longer as they had 
been, and having gained experience by seeing 
others of his profession suffer from the folly of 
matrimony, he decided not to tarry until the bit- 
ter dregs must be drunk. When he had gone the 
faults which his parishioners had once refused to 
find in him stood glaringly magnified ; and many 
a woman made her whispered boast that Clay- 
born had been rejected by her as a suitor because 
of his worldly mindedness. 

Miss Malvin never rallied from her over-exer- 
tion in the clerical chase. Her face grew more 
sallow and hard, and her eyes became as cold as 
steel. Her whole aspect was that of a purple 
autumn blossom after the chill breath of King 
Frost has quwched its vitality. 


Comedy of Petty Conflicts 


i 77 


CHAPTER XXV. 

PETTY ANNOYANCES. 

Months lengthened into years. In the Wendell 
home five children had been born, one of which 
died in its early infancy. Rupert, the eldest — 
called “Pert” — when six years old bore a strik- 
ing resemblance to his father ; he was handsome, 
reckless, fond of fun, and every ready to fight. 
Next came the twins, Flintof and Ralph. They, 
too, were headstrong, but truthful and full of 
generous impulses. Baby Lillian was the sun- 
shine of the home. She was always amiable and 
smiling, except when the boys treated her rudely ; 
then her tender heart would send forth a touch- 
ing little sob. Her winsome smile, and the joy- 
ous expression of her violet eyes were a chal- 
lenge to love. Her father declared that she was 
a cherub, and should not be contaminated by the 
example of the unruly boys. 

Theo found much comfort and happiness in 
her children. They helped to wile away many a 
weary hour when she knew that her husband was 
seeking his pastimes away from home. 

But now a certain anniversary of their wed- 
ding was approaching, and he had promised to 
remain by her side for the evening. With the 
hope of reviving within him sweet memories of 


178 Comedy of Petty Conflicts 

the olden time she wore her wedding gown and 
bride roses on her bosom. Eagerly she listened 
for his familiar footstep that night, and was 
ready to perform any act that love or humility 
could suggest, for her aspiration never rose above 
a position in his service. She sat beside the win- 
dow where, in former years, she had been wont 
to await his coming. The hours slipped away, 
as in mute patience she hoped and watched; but 
he came not. Like a deathblow to her desires the 
clock struck eleven. She arose with a sigh of 
disappointment and went to the nursery, where 
she sought comfort in admiring her children. 
Then, from an upper window, she once more 
peered into the darkness. 

“The evening is over, ,, she murmured sadly. 
“Oh, dear, will it always be loneliness and wait- 
ing?” 

At last she heard a footstep on the stairway, 
and in a moment Theo’s arms were around her 
husband's neck. She did not reproach him, nor 
show her disappointment as she had done in times 
past, for she was trying to perfect herself in 
life's grandest lesson — that of suffering in si- 
lence and living for another. 

“Oh, hubby, I am delighted that you have 
come," she said. 

Wendell kissed the upturned face, and then 
hastened into the bedroom. “No time for slip- 
pers and easy chair to-night, Theo. I am worn 
out, and must retire. I regret that I was unable 
to keep my engagement with you, dear." 

Theo battled with herself, although the tears 
choked her voice. “If he would only see that I 


Comedy of Petty Conflicts 179 

have dressed for his coming, and say one word 
of love to me.” He did not, however; but, with 
the speed of a fire engine horse, he stepped out of 
his harness and rolled into bed. Slowly the ag- 
grieved wife removed the rosebuds from her 
hair and folded away the gown in which she had 
arrayed herself with so much care. 

Before she had finished putting away Wen- 
dell's scattered trappings he snored. That was 
the coup de grace . Good resolutions, and the 
patient self-training of years were forgotten, as 
tears coursed down the wife's cheeks. The 
snores wounded her; they suggested indifference 
and the decadence of love. Her grief did not ap- 
peal to the sleeper, and soon he was disturbed 
by two warm little hands fondling his face, and 
a soft voice questioning: “Is your home dis- 
tasteful to you, Rupert? Tell me truly if you 
have grown weary of me?" 

“Thunder !" cried Wendell, in a resonant voice. 
Then he partly awoke, and testily asked: “What 
is the matter, Theo? You remind me of a 
screech owl, always making your plaintive moan 
at night. Go to sleep." 

“Hubby, dear, you don't seem to love your 
home. Aunt Charlotte says that when a man 
finds outside resources for pleasure that's the 
end " 

“Damn Aunt Charlotte!" he interrupted em- 
phatically, as he turned over, and once more gave 
himself to slumber. 

With eyes sad and wakeful Theo sat bolt up- 
right in bed. She recalled the time when he, her 
lover, had watched and waited on the balcony for 


180 Comedy of Petty Conflicts 

a glimpse of her, or even a wave of her little 
hand. Sleep did not then encroach upon the 
sweetness of their waking dream. In those days 
he had called her his “little dove” ; and now — 
oh, horror! to be called an “owl!” In gloomy 
solitude she brooded, until finally she sank back 
exhausted upon her pillow, and morning found 
her still weakly craving sympathy. 

Miss Flintof made an early call, and tried to 
supply the article desired by Theo’s heart. She 
was primed with a tray of sweetmeats and a 
quantity of well-meaning advice. 

“You are going to pieces fast, my child,” said 
the spinster, as she removed her bonnet. “How 
worn and pallid you are! Yes, actually killing 
yourself with worry about that abandoned hus- 
band of yours.” 

“Ah,” sighed Theo, “I fear that Rupert and I 
are not equally mated.” 

“Pity if you were,” retorted Miss Flintof; 
“his mate is not at large.” 

“I mean that Rupert deserves a stronger wom- 
an — one with more sparkle and dash than I 
have.” 

“Yes, indeed; one strong enough to dash him 
out of the window when he staggers in drunk 
after midnight.” 

“Oh, Aunt Charlotte, you prefer to misunder- 
stand me,” pleaded Theo. 

“God will hold you responsible for the tempta- 
tion you allow your husband to fall into night 
after night,” responded Aunt Charlotte, shaking 
a warning finger. “Fie spends his time upon the 
clubroom’s degrading vices, such as the gaming 


Comedy of Petty Conflicts 181 

table, or else strolling around with women of 
sporty habits.” 

“You really don’t think anything so terrible as 
that!” cried Theo, as she grasped Miss Flintof ’s 
hand. “My husband is above reproach, and so 
extremely popular.” 

“Above nothing!” corrected Miss Flintof. “If 
he is popular, his wife should share his populari- 
ty, as she does his cares and labors. If Wendell 
had a strong wife he would soon be convinced 
of his perverted ways, and possibly would be 
saved from being inveigled into everlasting per- 
dition by unlawful loves.” 

This invidious speech made a lasting impres- 
sion upon Theo’s mind, as she sat there in tor- 
ture; for she considered the spinster a world of 
knowledge. 

Could the victim of Miss Flintof’s fury have 
been near the result of her speech might have 
been disastrous ; but he was working in his office, 
at peace with the world. 

Theo’s face expressed solemn thought and un- 
utterable sadness as prayerfully she weighed the 
matter. “What would you advise, Aunt Char- 
lotte? I will confess to you that in silence I have 
endured mental torture — almost despair.” She 
drew a long breath, and waited as a prisoner be- 
fore the bar awaits his death sentence. 

“That’s right, you poor down-trodden woman, 
confess it all!” said Miss Flintof, encouragingly, 
as she nodded approval, and edged nearer. 

“That is all. I only fear, you understand, that 
Rupert’s love has grown cold.” 


182 Comedy of Petty Conflicts 

“Forbid him to prowl around at night, and if 
he disobeys you, follow him — watch him!” 

“I would sooner sever my right arm from my 
body than do anything so contemptible/’ de- 
clared Theo, her eyes flashing with scornful in- 
dignation. 

“Well, just as you like,” retorted the irate 
woman, “but I tell you that men are allowed too 
much latitude nowadays. Marriage is only a 
pseudonym for their secret and widespread 
amours.” 

“Oh, you will kill me !” exclaimed Theo, wring- 
ing her hands. 

“Can’t help it. Truth is mightier than error, 
and will be heard. The woman who bears the 
name of wife is chiefly a domestic necessity; 
and after a year of wedded life, the only way 
that she can induce a smile or word of praise 
from her husband is when she has satisfied his 
appetite by some remarkable feat with the fry- 
ing pan, or else indulged his purse by renovating 
her old duds from last season. For such he will 
encourage her thrift, and praise her economy; 
then, when he sees her among well-dressed wom- 
en, he will compare her shabby and gone-to- 
pieces condition with their smart appearance, to 
her everlasting disadvantage.” 

“On this subject we cannot agree,” cried Theo, 
with spirit; “and I fear that your influence is 
doing me no good.” 

“Still, when your dissolute husband falls short 
of his duty, your telltale face implores counsel 
from me. My unpalatable assertions are found- 
ed upon previous investigation; and when the 


Comedy of Petty Conflicts 183 

crisis comes, you will understand that man is 
unworthy of woman's love." 

Theo did not approve Miss Flintof's prophe- 
cies; but, like ghost stories, they fascinated her. 
She gave earnest thought to the matter, and de- 
cided that in order to shield her husband from 
temptation she must resume her social duties and 
figure as his guardian angel. She sat in deep 
revery when Wendell came in to dinner. 

“Hurry up, please," he said; “I have an ap- 
pointment at three o'clock; my time is limited." 

The children crowded around and attempted 
to climb upon his lap. He eased off from them 
as though they were reptiles. 

“Here, nurse," he called; “take the children 
out. How untidy you keep them. Pert smells 
like a wet dog on a rainy day." 

With his handkerchief he wiped off a chair 
and took a seat at the table. A hubbub ensued, 
for the little ones refused to go from the room. 
As an inducement Theo placed a basket of red 
apples on the veranda, and away the youngsters 
scampered. 

“Watch them, nurse," she said, as she ran 
quickly from the dining room to the kitchen, too 
busy to see Pert place an apple on Flintof's head, 
and with a vigorous swing of a toy sword try to 
slice it in two parts. Deafening yells of pain 
and wrath recalled her to the scene of disturb- 
ance. 

“If you have any time for me," Wendell called 
above the noise, “remember that I am waiting 
for my dinner." 

“Yes, dear, in a minute," replied Theo. She 


184 Comedy of Petty Conflicts 

held a wet towel on Flintofs wounded head with 
one hand, while she made a prisoner of Pert with 
the other. 

“If the soup is hot, I can’t wait for it to cool/’ 
came from the impatient man. 

“I will cool it for you, hubby,” Theo replied 
sweetly. “It is oxtail soup, and extra fine.” She 
then turned to the indolent nurse. “Keep order 
here,” she commanded, “or I will discharge you 
this very day.” With Flintof weeping in her 
arms she went in and served her husband. The 
butler was a luxury of the past, and the poorly 
paid cook was so untidy in appearance that she 
was not allowed in the dining room. 

Several dishes were curtly refused by Wendell. 
This distressed his anxious wife, and caused her 
to wear a repentant look, and respond with the 
menial submission that wives of her kind display 
when bullied by an impatient husband. 

When dinner was over she meekly tripped up- 
stairs behind him, laid out his linen, changed his 
shirt buttons, prepared his shaving apparatus; 
and then he grunted out appreciatively: 

“I wish to gracious that you could shave me.” 

“Oh, how I would love to! Do let me try.” 

“No, I guess I’d better not; you might cut 
me.” 

Theo turned pale at the mere suggestion of 
such a calamity. She stood by and watched the 
process, handing him every article required until 
finished. 

“Where is my diamond stud ?” Wendell stirred 
the orderly drawer into confusion as he spoke. 


Comedy of Petty Conflicts 185 

“Not there, hub; here it is, in your jewelry 
case.” 

“I can never find anything when I want it. 
Where is my new tie ?” He emptied the mouchoir 
case on the dresser. Dainty perfume arose from 
the tumbled heap. 

“Here it is, darling, in the proper place. You 
should have learned all this long ago,” laughed 
Theo. She then removed a soiled towel from the 
silken drapery on the mantel where he had care- 
lessly thrown it. He had long intended to over- 
come his boyish disregard of order, and adapt 
himself to ways of neatness; but, like most men, 
he was “forever on the brink of being born.” 

“Aunt Charlotte thinks that I neglect you, Ru- 
pert ” 

“For once she has had a rational thought,” in- 
terrupted Wendell. 

“Inasmuch as I never accompany you in your 
social rounds, dear.” 

“Pshaw! Since your matchless aunt missed 
the coveted privilege of rocking a cradle she 
should be occupied in sewing on rag mats, in- 
stead of nagging at married people. One look 
into her savage face is enough to make a fellow 
crawl in his shoes.” 

In the ensuing days Theo found time in her 
busy life to create some dainty costumes for 
evening wear; and when she expressed a desire 
to accompany her husband abroad he obligingly 
escorted her to soiree and reception. But in- 
variably their homecoming was marked by sore 
trial. 

The nurse once smuggled her own woolly- 


i86 Comedy of Petty Conflicts 

headed youngster into the nursery, stretched her- 
self on the children’s bed, and with her baby 
hanging to her breast, she dropped into that pro- 
found slumber known best to her race, while the 
children held high carnival at midnight. Rupert 
cut off Lillian’s curls on one side, and blackened 
her cheeks with shoe polish. He locked Flintof 
and Ralph in the closet while playing prisoner, 
and there they wept themselves to sleep on the 
cold floor. He then robed the pickaninny in his 
mother’s wedding gown — her dearest treasure — 
and laid it in his father’s place in bed. He ex- 
hausted himself with frolicsome pranks, while 
the nurse slept the sleep of the just. 

“It is the result of your neglect of duty, Theo,” 
declared Wendell, in icy tones, as he surveyed the 
scene. “The idea of a mother leaving her chil- 
dren to the mercy of a negro is outrageous.” He 
then betook himself to the quiet of a spare room, 
where he slept until morning. 

For the remaining hours of the night the 
mother watched over Ralph, who was threatened 
with a case of croup. She grieved over the 
child’s indisposition, and reproached herself for 
the annoyance her husband had suffered. She 
was w r ounded by his coldness, and his indiffer- 
ence to her distress. His ideas were hers, how- 
ever ; she concluded that a mother’s proper 
sphere was within the limits of the household 
and nursery, and that her love for her husband 
should hold him above suspicion in her mind. 
This she afterward hinted to Miss Flintof, while 
unreservedly blaming herself. 

“Aha, aha!” nodded the spinster, “show the 


Comedy of Petty Conflicts 187 

white feather, and your future will be all desola- 
tion and cruel neglect. ,, Her solemn eyes grew 
expressionless, and as pale as boiled onions. Theo 
thought that they never were so frigid and hide- 
ous as when Wendell was discussed. 


1 88 


Comedy of Petty Conflicts 


CHAPTER XXVI. 

J 

HEART BRUISES. 

Wendell, in gay spirits, took an affectionate 
farewell of his family, “to be absent for a week,” 
he said, “and revel in the delights of a wild duck 
hunt.” But before his return sorrow found its 
way into his home. One after another the chil- 
dren were stricken with scarlet fever. Tele- 
graphic dispatches were sent in rapid succession, 
but they failed to reach him. 

After a careful diagnosis of Lillian's case the 
doctor became grave and silent ; he gave no hope 
of her recovery. Theo displayed wonderful 
strength of character in that ill-starred hour; her 
self-control was exemplary, and except by her 
deathly pallor, and a shudder of her delicate form 
she gave no sign of grief, but unceasingly 
watched over the frail life which was ebbing 
away. 

At that particular time nurses were greatly in 
demand, and Miss Flintof came to Theo to offer 
her services, and stand beside the young mother 
in her difficulty. The spinster's reputation as a 
nurse was widespread, for she was a familiar 
figure in homes of distress; her very name was 
a relief to anxious mothers, who battled with dis- 
eases peculiar to children. 


Comedy of Petty Conflicts 189 

The night of Lillian’s death was dark and cold ; 
a heavy rain poured at intervals, and the winter 
wind howled around the house. Profound si- 
lence reigned within the room where Theo hero- 
ically strove to revive the fast failing strength of 
her little daughter. Softly Miss Flintof stole 
into the apartment. She marveled at the sublime 
faith and resignation of the patient mother, who 
bent over her child in its last moments, as though 
reaching into the mysteries of spirit land, to 
bear the little one safely into heavenly confines. 

The child’s delicate lips took on a pallid hue, 
her dark eyes opened pathetically for the last 
time. Then followed that dread silence which 
acknowledged the presence of death. 

“Into thy hands, oh Father!” murmured the 
sorrowing mother, as she kissed the pale fore- 
head, and closed the dimmed eyes. 

When Wendell returned home he found the 
blinds darkened, and white crape on the door. 
The shock was agonizing, and his grief intense, 
for Lillian’s winsome ways had been the sweet- 
est thing to him in his domestic life. In his sor- 
row he condemned his own lack of experience in 
the care of his children, and he felt remorse of 
conscience. How willingly, he told himself, 
would he have suffered in their stead! And 
while reviewing his idle hours of pleasure in the 
care free past, he made good resolutions for the 
future. Night and day, during the continued ill- 
ness, he lingered near with the hope of giving 
some assistance. 

In anxiety and silence Theo nerved herself for 
what the coming hours might bring. Conflicting 


igo Comedy of Petty Conflicts 

fears almost stifled the voice of hope, but the 
crisis found her strong. And Miss Flintof’s 
fidelity was unswerving. She wrestled with 
every discouragement until, at length, the result 
was success, the danger was almost over. 

Wendell saw her gentle treatment of his chil- 
dren with astonishment. He could not reconcile 
her present conduct with her attitude toward 
him in the past. “The fault was mine,” he con- 
cluded ; “I was deceived. Oh, what a brute I’ve 
been not to have discovered her merit sooner. 

She is an angel in the disguise of a ” He 

cleared his throat, and stifled the gruesome 
thought. “I’ll cultivate her friendship; I’ll tell 
her what a wealth of good there is in her.” 

So he watched for his opportunity, but the 
spinster ignored even his presence, unless at 
midnight, when overcome by sleep, he attempted 
to go from the room; then invariably she called 
a halt on his footsteps, shook her mummy-like 
finger in his face with a bullying look of defi- 
ance. Night after night Wendell was check- 
mated by her lanky form and tantalizing manner, 
for he feared the “hot shot with which her tongue 
was loaded,” as he sometimes expressed it. At 
last, in desperation, he appealed to the family 
physician. * 

“I can endure it no longer,” he declared. “That 
old — I mean Miss Flintof — she loses her own rest 
in order to watch and torture me into wakeful- 
ness. I haven’t had an hour’s rest since my re- 
turn home, ten days ago. She is trying to kill 
me. 

The doctor was thoughtful and silent for a 


Comedy of Petty Conflicts 191 

moment. “Her services are indispensable,” he 
said, “and I entreat you not to antagonize her. 
From her skill and success in nursing one would 
judge that the purple seal of high scholarship, 
conferred by the State Medical Examining 
Board, had been granted her. You are fortunate, 
sir, in being the recipient of her favors. ,, 

“What?” cried Wendell, “she hates me worse 
than Satan abhors a high priest.” 

“Be patient, Mr. Wendell,” counseled the dig- 
nified professional. “A few more days of cau- 
tion and all will be well.” He then walked out, 
leaving the dismayed young man standing stark 
still in the hallway. 

“A few more days ! Why, I’ll never live to tell 
the tale!” groaned Wendell, as visions of Miss 
Flintof’s cruelties arose before him; and “a few 
more days” rang in his ears till twilight shadows 
fell. 

Theo was greatly relieved by the improvement 
of her children’s condition, and slept throughout 
the afternoon. Her first thought on waking was 
of her husband’s need of rest, and she appealed 
to Miss Flintof. “Dear Aunt Charlotte, don’t 
you think that Rupert should retire early to- 
night? He is completely worn out, the poor 
darling. I will watch with you.” 

“As you like,” replied Miss Flintof snappishly, 
“but the moment he leaves, so will I. We will 
call off the night watch, and let the children take 
their chances. You, Theo, have lost more rest 
than any of us. You sacrifice your strength and 
health prodigally to a false conception of your 
duty to the wag. Beside, he is no novice at mid- 


192 ’Comedy of Petty Conflicts 

night watches.” And the look with which she 
regarded Wendell plainly said: “I know more 
about your nocturnal revels than I care to re^ 
veal.”. 

Seeing the danger signal in her eyes, he re- 
plied, “If it is my presence that you desire, 
ma'am, the pleasure is mine.” With this shame- 
less perversion of truth he closed his eyes in or- 
der to avoid the sight of her dark and vicious 
countenance. 

Theo arranged for his comfort a huge easy 
chair. She shaded the light from his eyes, cov- 
ered him with a slumber robe, and left him to 
rest. These acts of tenderness Miss Flintof re- 
garded with lofty contempt. There was a mali- 
cious twinkle in her cold eyes as she brooded 
over what she termed man's selfishness, and when 
Wendell gave forth a sound of dreamy satisfac- 
tion she could endure it no longer. She turned 
the light full on his face, and in resolute tones 
she called, “Theo, the boys need attention. Get 
the alcohol, while I pour the water.” 

The kettle on the hearth puffed its white 
steam; she poured a bowlful, and in passing the 
chair where Wendell peacefully slumbered, she 
tipped the bowl slightly, and a tiny billow of the 
hot water splashed over his feet. Wendell gave 
a discordant yell, and sprang wildly into the air. 

“I beg your pardon,” said Miss Flintof stifflv. 
“Stretched out in this manner, sir, you are in my 
way. I'll venture to say that if you were out on 
one of your larks you would not be drowsy.” 

Wendell was enraged, and felt strongly tempt- 
ed to pitch his tormenter through the window; 


Comedy of Petty Conflicts 193 

but, like a flash, the doctor’s warning recurred to 
him, so he manfully struggled with his anger. 

Theo was beside him in a moment, wild with 
fright. “Darling, are you hurt?” she questioned 
fervently. “Aunt Charlotte, how can you be so 
heartless? I mean, so careless? You have 
scalded my precious hubby.” Like Mary of old, 
she knelt at her master’s feet. Her hair fell in 
full masses about her slender form, and as she 
bathed the afflicted parts, her tears fell upon 
them. No thanks to the spinster’s tender mer- 
cies, the injuries were slight, but Theo could not 
be comforted. She hovered near her husband as 
if she feared further assault. 

“Dear Rupert, let me make you an eggnog,” 
she begged, “it will revive you.” 

“He has been unexpectedly revived,” mumbled 
Miss Flintof, with a satanic grin. 

“No,” said Wendell quickly, “I have had noth- 
ing else but eggs for over a week. I wonder 
that they don’t start me clucking,” he blurted out 
peevishly. 

“Pity that they do not start you to setting, and 
in future cause you to stay at home,” interrupted 
Miss Flintof. 

Wendell did not close his eyes again, but kept 
a strict watch on his enemy. “Fiend incarnate!” 
he thought, as his sleepy eyes followed her cat- 
like movements abound the room. Sometimes she 
smiled grimly with satisfaction, for her concep- 
tion of the situation was equally antagonistic. 

At last the trouble was over, but while the chil- 
dren were convalescent Theo’s conflicts were 
many and varied. Indifferent and slothful ser- 


194 Comedy of Petty Conflicts 

vants, an exacting husband and fretful children 
all tended to weigh heavily upon her spirits. Still, 
with a grateful heart that her boys were spared, 
she cheerfully took up the tangled thread of her 
life. 

“Rupert,” called Theo from the kitchen one 
day, “Aunt Charlotte is ill, and has gone away 
for a change of air. Poor soul, I am distressed 
about her health.” 

But at that particular moment Wendell was not 
in a mood to discuss “Aunt Charlotte.” “I hope 
that she will continue to go, or else take a short 
cut to perdition,” he replied savagely. “Without 
her evil influence, Theo, I trust that in future you 
will act a woman's part, and overcome your 
childish nonsense. When she induced you to 
keep pace with my movements the trouble began. 
Through neglect of the nurse there is no telling 
what happened to the children in your absence.” 

“I’ll never leave them again, hubby,” came 
meekly from the kitchen. 

“And we must curtail expenses, for our recent 
outlay of money has been enormous. In future 
a girl must supply the place of a woman.” 

While he fired these light weight messages his 
wife sat on a low chair beside the cook stove in- 
structing a sluggish black woman how to make 
piecrust. 

“Yes, hubby, I know that your advice is the 
best. Oh, dear, I fear that I am not a good 
housewife.” Her workbasket, full of stockings 
to be darned, was near her, and with one foot she 
rocked the cradle wherein Flintof lay fighting 
the sleep that almost closed his bright eyes. In 


Comedy of Petty Conflicts 195 

her arms she held Ralph, who fretted and fumed. 
On her knee leaned Pert, pulling at her face. 

“Lord, ma,” he screamed, “I’ll die if I don’t 
get this pretty red apple !” For, whenever Ralph 
kept still for a moment, she managed to pare and 
hand to the cook for safe keeping one more apple 
for the pies. Meanwhile she paid due attention 
to her lord’s lecture on economy, and tried to tax 
her own overworked brain with her shortcom- 
ings, and her inability to discharge properly the 
manifold duties .of a married woman. 

Lillian’s curls, which Pert had severed while 
Theo “kept pace” with Wendell’s movements, the 
mother caressed and wept over daily. “Was I 
the cause, my angel child?” she often questioned; 
and when alone she fondly pressed the little one’s 
hair to her lips, amidst gushing tears. 


196 Comedy of Petty Conflicts 


CHAPTER XXVII. 

Cecil's peep through cupid's gilded bars. 

Eight years had passed since the parting of 
Theo and Cecil, when Theo was about to tread 
the paths of matrimonial seductiveness, veiled in 
a misty halo of romance. But as that halo faded 
into the somber skies of life's stern realities, 
Theo's amiability bore her above the harrowing 
cares which are strewn along the beaten track of 
woman’s domestic life. Since the death of Lil- 
lian the mother's gentle rule over the other chil- 
dren had weakened, until, at times, they were 
almost beyond control. Wendell declared that 
they were incorrigible. 

“It's your fault, Theo," he would say; “you 
should enforce obedience from your children. So 
often have I been mortified at their misconduct 
that when our guests are here I am in constant 
fear of an outbreak." 

“The children are not bad, Rupert ; they are so 
buoyantly full of spirit that they bubble over," 
said Theo. 

“Banish them to the nursery, and let them bub- 
ble there," he suggested. 

“By the way, hubby, at noon Cecil Dupree will 
arrive, you know. She will pay us a little visit 
during her summer vacation." 


Comedy of Petty Conflicts 197 

“She will be shocked at the state of affairs,” 
he groaned, and again he deplored the insubordi- 
nation of the children. 

While Theo gave respectful attention to her 
husband's lecture on her inefficiency, Cecil was 
on her way to the Wendell home. She was at 
that moment thinking about her married friend, 
and mentally painting an ideal picture of domes- 
tic felicity. When she arrived at her destination 
and stepped from the car to the platform of the 
station, she looked eagerly around for Theo, but 
was met by a negro hackman instead. 

“Is dis de lady fo’ Miss T’eo Wendell house?” 
he inquired, as he bowed and flourished his hat. 

“Yes; but where is she? I expected her to 
meet me.” 

“Oh, she don’t g’out much, ma’arm, kase Mars 
Ruput an’ de chil’en keep her right busy,” he re- 
plied. 

A short drive brought Cecil to the home of 
her hostess, who, flushed and expectant, held out 
her arms in welcome. 

“Too happy to spare time to meet an old 
friend, Theo ?” called Cecil cheerily ; and they 
rushed into each other’s arms with all the school 
girl gush of olden times. 

“I am charmed that you have come, Cecil dar- 
ling!” cried Theo. They caressed each other as 
they went into the house, and up to the guests’ 
chamber. They were alone for only a moment, 
while Cecil refreshed herself for dinner. Then 
the screaming voices of children drew near, with 
a lively commotion outside. The door was burst 
open, and the three boys rushed wildly into the 


igS Comedy of Petty Conflicts 

room. They were trying to escape from their 
nurse, a black girl who previously had been in- 
structed to keep them quiet, and to amuse them 
until they were called. 

“Mamma, mamma,” shouted Flintof, “Nancy 
shut us up in the closet for the 'bad man’ to catch 
us.” 

The small boys tugged violently at their moth- 
er’s skirts, and screamed their troubles to the 
accompaniment of Nancy’s mumbled complaints: 
“I ain’t, Miss T’eo ; dey tu’n ober all de bread an’ 
’lasses on de cappet, bruck up de plate, an’ try to 
scratch out my eye, so dat dey can git yer, an’ 
see de new buckra ’ooman.” 

“Hush, babies!” said the mother caressingly. 
She lifted Ralph in her arms, while Flintof clung 
to her skirts as though he would climb to his 
brother’s coveted position. 

“Oh, the darlings !” cried Cecil. In her aston- 
ishment she could think of nothing else to say. 
Then she stooped and kissed the juicy lips of the 
youngsters. 

“Gi’ me this?” said Pert, as he seized Cecil’s 
watch chain, leaving finger prints on her dainty 
waist. 

Theo washed the children’s soiled hands, dur- 
ing which time her guest was constrained to lis- 
ten to a lengthy oration about their intelligence, 
their remarkable sayings and traits of character 
inherited from their father. Cecil gave flatter- 
ing acquiescence to all that was said, acknowl- 
edged their superiority to children in general, and 
in her heart thanked heaven that no such bless- 
ing had been bestowed upon her. 


Comedy of Petty Conflicts 199 

The cook’s dismal call, “Dinner is gittin’ col’ 
in de pot, an’ de fly gwine to tak’ de table !” broke 
into the unfinished recital, and the party trooped 
down to the dining room, clumsy- footed Nancy 
bringing up the rear. 

Cecil was left with the host, while the hostess 
flitted rapidly from place to place arranging va- 
rious dishes on the table, directing the awkward 
cook, and bribing the children into a temporary 
lull of their maniacal shrieks of merriment, or 
deafening shouts of wrath. But Pert’s hilarity 
was at floodtide, and order was impossible. Nan- 
cy, with half closed eyes, lolled on a windowsill, 
dreamily playing on a jewsharp, and taking life 
easy until Pert threw a fishing line at her head. 
The hook caught in her woolly plait. 

“I’ve caught an alligator, boys!” he cried; 
“help me haul it in !” 

A wail of anger from Nancy brought her mis- 
tress to the rescue. Pert was gently reprimanded 
and placed near the table. The sight of the 
tempting viands sharpened his appetite, and soon 
he was busily engaged in tasting everything 
within his reach. When all were seated at the 
dinner table the stolid Nancy served as waitress. 

“My dear,” said Wendell to his wife, “the soup 
is a failure ; kindly have it removed.” Then, with 
a softened voice and expression, he turned to his 
guest. “Change your plate, Miss Dupree, and 
have fish?” 

“No, thank you ; I am enjoying my soup,” re- 
plied Cecil. She kept up a pleasant flow of chat, 
notwithstanding the noise of Flintof’s angry 
voice that whined out complaints. 


200 


Comedy of Petty Conflicts 


Wendell was apparently_disgusted with every- 
thing that was served, and when not smiling ap- 
proval on Cecil’s charms, he kept in operation a 
line of critical mental telegraphy with his wife, 
who, in her sad-eyed watch of his disdainful ap- 
petite, forgot all else. The soup had been spilled 
on the snowy tablecloth; for, in removing the 
plates, Nancy had made a dive with one hand to 
pull up her stockings. She hurried from the 
room, but soon returned with a dingy rag to 
repair damages. Her master’s wrathful flush, 
however, and the look that he gave her sug- 
gested lynching, and convinced her that it would 
be prudent for her to desist. 

The next course began favorable, but soon 
Nancy cried out to Pert, “Aha, I knewed you 
was gwine to choke ! Who you eber see kin swal- 
low a whole tatter bedout chaw it fust? Boy, 
you’s wusser dan a bullfrog!” She tried to poke 
her finger down his throat, but Pert resented such 
gross familiarity ; he clinched it in his teeth with 
a vise-like hold. With a surly growl the girl 
quickly jerked it loose. 

In this dire extremity the cook unexpectedly 
appeared in the doorway, and in deep, sepulchral 
tones announced, “De dog tu’n ober de ham 
b’iler, tak de ham vvo bin a coolin’, drag ’em down 
de steps — gone wid ’em!” 

All eyes were turned on Pert, who was blue in 
the face; but no one seemed surprised excepting 
the visitor, who was in agony with suppressed 
merriment. 

Theo arose quickly, and with a low murmured 
“Excuse me, please,” left the table. She took 


Comedy of Petty Conflicts 


201 


the young gourmand from the room, and when 
in the hallway, carried him through vigorous ac- 
robatic exercises until the offending potato fell 
with a thud to the floor. 

When dinner was over Theo hurriedly super- 
intended affairs in the rear of the house, while 
her husband escorted Cecil to the veranda, “to 
show her the flowers, " he said. He was charmed 
with the pretty woman, and only his wife's in- 
ability to avoid domestic mishaps threw a damper 
over his gay spirits. 

“I shall esteem it a delightful privilege, Miss 
Dupree," he said, “if you will let me help make 
your visit with us agreeable; otherwise, I am 
afraid you will find it beastly dull. My wife is 
so completely engrossed with the children and 
household affairs, that she sometimes neglects 
me. I'm often jealous, for you know it's man's 
nature to crave a goodly share of woman's de- 
votion." He gazed earnestly into Cecil's merry 
eyes. “Will you drive with me this afternoon?" 
he asked. 

“Thank you, Mr. Wendell, I shall be pleased 
to go, and I am sure that your wife will bear us 
company." 

“Yes, indeed," rejoined Wendell ; “I should be 
happy to have her with us. I shall go now and 
try to induce her to join us. Au revoir." Pie 
lighted his cigar, passed through the hall, and 
halted at the pantry door, where Theo was plac- 
ing away pastry which she had made in the fore- 
noon. 

“Theo," he spoke in a subdued tone; “I have 
left the account book on my desk; look it over 


202 


Comedy of Petty Conflicts 


and see if there is not a mistake in the charges. 
The grocer's bill is enormous, and there are 
others equally so. It seems that there is no end 
to this exorbitant outlay of money." He gave a 
doleful sigh. Theo flushed as if accused of 
theft, and with slavish humility replied: 

“Nothing has been bought this month, hubby, 
but what is absolutely necessary. In order to 
economize I have done the entire sewing for the 
family." 

“Well, there is evidently mismanagement. The 
cook’s report of the ham, for instance. You 
don’t watch the servants as you should." 

“Oh, dear!" she sighed. 

“Yes, extremely dear for me. By the way, 
dinner was a failure throughout, and the chil- 
dren’s behavior was vile. I was mortified at the 
whole proceeding." 

An awkward pause ensued, and again he spoke. 
“Why aren’t you as jolly as your friend, Miss 
Dupree? Positively, your face is as doleful as 
a dull sermon on morality. Shake off depression, 
and put on some style, old girl." A smile over- 
spread his face, and he added softly, “Your 
friend is charming." 

Theo forced a smile, and then suggested that 
he should send for Mary, their former cook. 
“This field hand you sent here," she said, “will 
drive me mad. She has never before used a cook 
stove. She persists in walking around at night 
with a light wood torch. She uses my best din- 
ner napkins for dish cloths. In short, she re- 
quires incessant watching." 


Comedy of Petty Conflicts 203 

“Mary charges too much, and besides she feeds 
her family from the kitchen, and you know it.” 

“Well, get a competent girl that can help me 
with the children. I have no time for recrea- 
tion. My head aches often, and I am worn out. 
Nancy is worthless in every respect.” 

Wendell heard a childish whimper, and cut 
short his lecture. “Oh, nonsense, Theo, control 
your servants and children. I have my business 
to occupy my time.” Satisfied with having had 
the last word, he walked away, and then called 
from the doorway, “Senator Whitmark will take 
supper with us to-night.” 


204 


Comedy of Petty Conflicts 


, CHAPTER XXVIII. 

A DIMINUTIVE RACE RIOT. 

Theo pulled herself together, and remembered 
her guest. “Cecil,” she called, “come with me, 
dear. I must see to the children’s bath ; and 
while I am busy you may rest in my room, and 
be with me.” 

“You seem to be always busy, Theo. Is your 
husband aware of the value of his jewel? A 
beautiful type of wife and mother, but withal 
quite too unselfish.” Cecil followed Theo to 
the bedroom, and with graceful indolence re- 
clined on a couch, while Theo, with Ralph on 
her lap, sat in the doorway that led into the 
bathroom. 

“Wrong beginning you made, dear,” said Ce- 
cil, as she gravely shook her head; “preserve 
your beauty and health, or they will forsake you, 
and you know the natural sequence ; you cannot 
retain the admiration of your husband.” 

“Ah, Cecil, a man should cherish his wife far 
more after she has broken and aged in his ser- 
vice — especially if she bears him children.” 

“Should!” repeated Cecil; “but how many do? 
It compromises a woman’s dignity for her to 
make a slave of herself.” 

“Hush, children, don’t make so much noise!” 

t ~ 9 9 


Comedy of Petty Conflicts 205 

cried Theo, interrupting her friend’s speech. She 
took hold of Pert, who was throwing a ball in a 
reckless manner, gave Flintof a caressing little 
tap in order to quiet his shrieks, then smilingly 
resumed the subject. “You were ever an enemy 
to love and conjugal happiness. For shame, you 
naughty girl.” 

“Shame it will be when I make concession to 
man,” laughed Cecil. “Since the garden of Eden 
incident the shame has been on woman for her 
cringing servility to man.” But her voice was 
lost in the disturbance caused by a scuffle be- 
tween Pert and the nurse. There was a sounding 
“slap, slap,” followed by a succession of yells, 
and from Theo an apologetic, “You unruly boy! 
It pains me to punish you.” 

With a rippling laugh Cecil inquired, “Theo, 
do you have this hubbub often, or is it special 
for my amusement?” 

“It’s dis way ebery day, ma’arm, an’ wuss,” 
spoke Nancy. 

The mother struggled to rescue Flintof from 
Pert’s cruelties, while the nurse stood idly re- 
garding them. “Nancy,” cried Theo in exas- 
peration, “can you find nothing to do? I’ll re- 
port your indolence to your father.” 

“I ain’t neber had none,” replied Nancy se- 
renely, “kase one day I ax ma ’bout him, an’ she 
say she dunno rightly who ’e is.” Then she 
turned and spoke coaxingly to Ralph : “Come, le’ 
me wipe off your face wid de washrag, an’ den 
your ma might scuse you from washin’ all ober 
in de big tub. ’Member de frog wa bin a settin’ 
on de tussock in de mill pon’? He see de big 


20 6 Comedy of Petty Conflicts 

rain a cornin’, so he jump down in de pon’, den 
w’en de rain stop cornin’ ’e poke ’e head out de 
water an’ laugh. ‘Aha,’ ’e say, ’ef I didn’ be so 
sha’p jist now, I sho woulder git mysel’ all wet 
up.’ ” 

“Is that so?” asked Pert, who had paused in 
his juvenile performance to listen. “That frog 
is your brother, Nancy, or else he wouldn’t be 
such a big fool.” 

“Look yer, boy, I gots no frog in my fambly ; 
neider fool,” spoke Nancy, as she bristled with 
anger. But the children were again in an uproar, 
and Nancy subsided in sullen silence. 

“Theo, come, lie down and rest,” called Cecil, 
over the disturbance. “Let the nurse attend the 
children, I implore you.” 

“I cannot just now, dear — impossible; for 
with all my haste somehow the day passes so 
quickly that night finds my duties unfinished. 
Stop that, Pert! You Flintof!” But the boys 
heeded her not, as hurriedly she laid out the lit- 
tle garments. Then, in a despairing voice, she 
bade Nancy go down in the yard and bring her 
a switch. With a vicious nod at Pert, Nancy 
moved rather briskly, for she bore him no good 
will, and was never seen to smile except when 
he came to grief. Soon she returned, bearing a 
barrel hoop in her hand. 

“Take it away,” commanded her mistress 
sternly. 

“Gi’ me it for a play horse,” cried Pert, as he 
seated himself astride of it, and galloped wildly 
around the room. 

A ring at the doorbell interrupted Theo’s re- 


Comedy of Petty Conflicts 207 

proof. “Go quickly, Nancy,” said Mrs. Wendell; 
“and if visitors are there tell them that I am not 
at home. Mind, do not invite them in.” 

“Yes’m, yes’m,” replied the nurse; and ill at 
ease in her “crying” shoes, she clogged heavily 
down the steps. 

Theo felt strange misgivings regarding the 
negro’s training in such matters, so she hurried 
out and leaned over the balustrade just in time 
to hear the girl announce: “Miss T’eo say she 
done gone out, an’ unner can’t come in de 
house.” 

“Who? What?” asked a sweet- voiced woman 
in surprise. 

“Miss T’eo wa dar up in de loft say I mus’ tell 
you she done gone out, an’ unner can’t come in 
no how.” 

As if to corroborate the statement, Flintof 
gave an alarming yell: “Mamma, mamma, come 
here quick. Pert’s got my pretty shoes for boats 
in the bathtub.” 

When the door closed, and the visitors had 
departed, Theo gave vent to her grievious agita- 
tion. 

“Was ever circumstance so trying? Nancy, 
how could you insult my friends in this man- 
ner?” she almost sobbed. 

“Ain’t you tol’ me to tol’ dem you had went 
out?” questioned Nancy, while her expression of 
innocence plainly showed that she was ignorant 
of having sinned. 

Another boisterous shout for help brought the 
downcast mother to a sense of her duty in the 
bathroom, for Pert had not only put his little 


208 Comedy of Petty Conflicts 

brother’s shoes into the bathtub, but also every- 
thing else within his reach, including the twins; 
and he had begun an impartial torture of first 
Flintof and then Ralph. Fie seemed possessed 
with a spirit of Cain. 

As the mother rushed into the room, she cried 
aloud, “You Pert, don’t you dare to put that 
soap in Flintof ’s mouth!” But soon another wail 
of agony was heard. 

“Pert done rub soap in ’e breder eye,” ex- 
plained Nancy. 

“You never told me not to rub it in his eyes, 
my dear little ma; you said not to put it in his 
mouth,” said the transgressor boldly. A sound- 
ing slap brought him to order, but only for a 
moment. 

“Now, you scamp, let the nurse bathe you,” 
commanded Theo. She soothed Flintof’s sob- 
bing cries, while the nurse made a slow advance 
on Pert. As two fighters measure each other 
before clinching in deadly combat, the two be- 
gan warfare. Nancy succeeded in getting a hold 
on Pert. 

“Turn me loose!” he commanded, as he boxed 
at her wildly. She dodged every blow with the 
skill of a pugilist. “Don’t you touch me, you 
black woolly nigger ; I want my mamma to 
bathe me,” said Pert, as he sprang from her and 
got under the bed. Sweet silence fell like a holy 
calm for a full minute. 

“Theo, my dear,” spoke Cecil, “how can you 
look so solemn? Excuse me for laughing, but 
the whole affair is too ridiculous.” 

“Nancy is a newcomer, and the children are 


Comedy of Petty Conflicts 209 

not accustomed to her ways,” replied Theo. She 
felt pity for the forlorn looking creature. 

“Pray that they never will be,” laughed Cecil. 

A thump, bump and tussle over the floor pro- 
claimed that the battle was on, for Nancy was 
dragging Pert to the bathroom. 

“Yes, Cecil, I’ll hear you in a minute,” said 
Theo absently, as she held Flintof in one arm 
and tried by gentle persuasion and a timid tap 
of the hair brush to separate the infuriated Pert 
and weeping Nancy; but he held his grip. 

“I’ll kill her, ding if I don’t !” he cried, flushed 
and delighted at his conquest, while his defeated 
opponent blubbered and mopped tears with her 
sleeve. 

“I’s a gwine — to — quit — ’fo — my — munt — 
up!” she growled. “Da’ boy cuss me, an’ tear 
all de yerrings out o’ my yers.” 

“Don’t you dare to say that Pert cursed you, 
Nancy,” counseled her mistress, growing red in 
the face. 

“He is cuss me!” retorted Nancy impertinent- 
ly ; “ ’e cuss me ding, an’ ‘nigger’ !” she sniv- 
elled and snarled, while Pert showered kisses on 
his mother’s face. 

“Forgive me, my precious little mamsy!” he 
said. “Pm sorry if I grieved you, but you know 
a boy mustn’t let a coon get the best of him. 
When I get to be a man Pm going to lynch them 
all, and I’m going to live in Georgia.” 

When the struggle with Pert was over he was 
placed in a chair for punishment, while Ralph 
was bathed. Nancy stood by in indolent ease, 


210 Comedy of Petty Conflicts 

and caressed her ears until the work was fin- 
ished. 

Presently the same gruff voice that had at din- 
ner deplored the loss of the ham, called out in 
agitation. “Please, misses, come down to de 
kitchen !” * 

“I can't leave just now; what is the trouble, 
Polly?" 

“Nuttin — only you gi' me too much salt fo’ de 
ice cream. I tase it to see if it was giftin' col’, 
an’ it fair seal' up my mouf." 

“Didn't you mix the salt in with the ice, as I 
instructed you to do?" 

“No, ma’arm, I trow it in de custa'd." 

“Oh, merciful heaven!" cried her mistress, as 
she arose. Then she wiped the perspiration 
from her heated face, and vanished after the 
cook. 

Celia's merriment gave place to profound pity, 
so she went earnestly to work, finished dressing 
the youngsters, and sent them with their nurse 
for an outing. 

“Well done," cried Theo, on her return to the 
room. “Cecil, you are entitled to the highest 
praise. You managed splendidly, or else you 
have charmed my babies. But get ready for 
your drive, dear; Rupert is waiting for you." | 

“Since you will not accompany us, promise 
that you will rest while the children are absent," 
said Cecil, as she daintily threw a kiss from her. 
fingers to the weary looking hostess. 


Comedy of Petty Conflicts 


211 


CHAPTER XXIX. 

IN THE KINGDOM OF POTS AND PANS. 

But there was no rest for Theo. The remem- 
brance of repeated failures in the culinary con- 
flicts weighed heavily upon her spirits; so she 
determined to persevere in training servants un- 
til she found one capable of learning. Polly 
was past the meridian of life, and set in her 
ways. Nancy moved by instinct, and seemed 
proof against instruction. Therefore the dainty 
woman found herself queen regent in the king- 
dom of pots and pans. 

Not until the lights were on, and laughing 
voices were heard on the balcony did Theo re- 
member her own heated and neglected appear- 
ance. Then she ran upstairs, and hurriedly 
changed the faded wrapper she wore for her 
best gown; not one fashioned by a modiste as 
were Cecil's handsome costumes, but one that 
her own hands had created when the days' toils 
were ended, and the household slept. 

At supper Wendell looked with impatience at 
the flushed face and roughened hands of his wife 
and then at the dainty complexion and delicate 
hands of Miss Dupree. The contrast was pro- 
nounced. “A fellow would be proud to call Miss 
Dupree wife,” he reflected, “for she would pre- 


212 Comedy of Petty Conflicts 

side with grace and beauty in his home. By all 
the gods, a man’s love must be stimulated, or it 
will stagnate.” 

The worldly wise senator felt abundantly in 
the recesses of his humane heart that masculine 
pity known among men for the deterioration of 
each other’s wives. “Ah,” he commented men- 
tally. “Wendell is a disappointed man. His 
goddess proves to be of common mould — another 
of those creatures who, after marriage, lay aside 
their feminine charms. Smiles have changed to 
constrained looks, and eyes once lovelit have 
grown restless and sad. Pity — pity!” 

Since Theo had lost her identity by merging 
her very life into that of her husband, she did 
not appeal to men, excepting to awaken their 
pity or their protective instincts. Her reticent 
manner, her modesty and purity could not stir 
their enthusiasm. A woman — oh, so much a 
woman; but she had none of the wiles of her 
sex — none of its designing instincts. 

After supper the young wife was detained for 
some time upstairs, putting the children to bed. 
But when that was finished she tripped cheer- 
fully into the presence of her guests. Reaction 
speedily followed, and despite efifort and will 
power, her attempts to be entertaining were un- 
spontaneous and forced. She tried the rendition 
of a song, but her voice was husky and utterly 
devoid of melody. Gladly she resigned her 
place at the piano to Cecil, who brilliantly gave 
one musical gem after another, both vocal and 
instrumental. 

When the evening was over, and Wendell was 


. Comedy of Petty Conflicts 213 

F 

alone with his wife, he painted for her a word 
picture of her own defection. 

“I know that I failed in my song to-night, Ru- 
pert,” replied Theo submissively, “but I was so 
tired.” Her voice failed her, and she fell to 
sobbing in subdued measures. In her struggle 
to be a model housewife, cook and nurse com- 
bined she had never before reckoned the cost. 

“Don’t cry, please,” said Wendell coldly, as he 
crawled into bed; “I have enough to endure. 
Sometimes I am forced to believe that marriage 
is a vile delusion, love a myth, and ” 

A passionate burst of sobs from the wretched 
little woman checked his heartless speech, and 
caused him to cover his ears; while she, at last 
finding spare time, indulged in the inexpensive 
luxury of tears — idle tears. Sad that they are 
inexpensive; for if every tear that a husband 
wrings from his wife’s heart cost his pocket a 
dollar she would have an easier time. 

“Drive with your husband this afternoon, 
Theo,” said Cecil coaxingly; “positively, you are 
pining for the fresh air. Go, dearie. I will care 
for the youngsters.” 

“Rupert has so many demands upon his time, 
Cecil, that I seldom accompany him; for when 
his day’s work is done he must have recreation; 
so I give him up to ‘the boys,’ ” replied Theo in 
an apologetic tone. “He prefers having me, I 
well know, but ” 

“Ma, look a’ pa!” shouted Pert from the ver- 
anda. 

Theo had fancied that her husband was busy 


214 Comedy of Petty Conflicts 

in his office at that early hour, and in surprise 
she rushed to the door in time to see his buggy, 
as it turned a distant corner. Waving plumes 
and lilac shirtwaist convinced her that a woman 
sat beside him. With a keen pang of pain she 
strained her eyes to see if it were Madame Fru- 
gatza. 

“Who is with your father ?” she asked of Pert, 
while she hoped against hope that her eyes had 
deceived her. 

“Oh, that same mash that drives with him all 
the time,” said Pert. “She stays at the Wind- 
sor.” Then in an undertone, “Golly, mamma, 
she’s a good looker!” 

“Pert, child, come here. When did you ever 
before see that woman with your father? Isn’t 
this the first time?” She caught her breath, as 
if her eternal doom hung upon his reply. 

“No, I’ve seen them before just a driving and 
driving, and papa will not take me in the buggy.” 

Theo groaned audibly. She forgot that Pert’s 
veracity many times might be impeached by a 
vivid imagination. 

“What is the matter?” inquired the innocent 
mischief maker. “Are you sick, my lovely mam- 
ma ?” 

“No, child,” in a despairing voice. 

The next morning at breakfast Theo was pen- 
sive and pale, and a glance at her husband would 
cause her eyes to fill with tears. Cecil tactfully 
played the agreeable, and wondered if every day 
of her stay at this home would be marked by va- 
ried and startling incidents. Wendell kissed his 
wife before he went away that morning, and 


Comedy of Petty Conflicts 215’ 

soon she was soaring to sublime heights on her 
favorite subject — love. To discuss this passion 
was to her a harbinger of coming joy. To dream 
over it illuminated the air-castles which her 
fancy painted, and past memories gave future 
hope. 

Later Cecil found her carefully dusting and 
folding away the dress suit that Wendell had 
hastily thrown on a chair after midnight, when 
he stole noiselessly into the room. Theo took the 
faded flower from his coat, and placed it in her 
bosom. It was withered and crushed, but he 
had worn it. 

“Too early in the day for romantic love 
dreams, Theo/' laughed Cecil. “Wait for the 
hour of twilight, and do not lavish caresses on 
the clothes. Take the substance, not the shad- 
ow.” 

“Ah,” sighed Theo, as she nestled her face 
down to the empty sleeve, “even this is dear to 
me. 

Cecil made a grimace. “I tell you, woman, 
your sentiment shows a defect in the nature of 
your sex — a failure to satisfy some higher law 
of life,” she said. 

“I cannot believe, Cecil, that you are as heart- 
less as your words imply.” Theo raised her eyes 
heavenward, and the words dropped like honey 
from her lips: “Love is the very elixir of life, 
and will endure throughout all eternity, especi- 
ally the kind ” 

“Wa you gwine to git fo’ dinner?” inter- 
rupted the cook from the doorway; “de butcher 
man done gone by, an' dar ain't nuttin’ in de 


216 Comedy of Petty Conflicts 

house like fresh meat. De one rooster wa lef 
ober f’um yistiddy wa poor as a Job, an’ de cat 
done chaw off de hin’ part, anyhow.” 

‘‘That is enough, Polly,” said her mistress in 
commanding tones. “I will hear the rest when 
I come down to the kitchen. Go and see that 
Nancy takes care of the children.” 

Then Theo proceeded to wipe her husband’s 
patent leather pumps with a silk handkerchief, 
as she resumed her favorite subject. 

“I was telling you, Cecil, of the strength of 

his lo ” Again the cook’s discordant tones 

broke the spell. 

“Please, misses, don’t wait too long fo’ you 
come, kase de house wash way. I tried to git 
some water out o’ de side o’ de wall, same like 
I see you do, an’ — bless God ! — de water buss 
out, an’ it won’t stop run fo’ me. I stuff a rag 
in de water sprout, an’ it spit dat out, an’ run 
all ober de kitchen. I put de bucket dar, an’ it 
just bile ober dat, so I lef’ em, kase I don’t wan- 
na git my feets wet. I’s plagued might’ly wid 
de miasthma in my t’roat.” 

At the first hint of the calamity Theo bounded 
past the deliberate creature, and down the stair- 
way. After long and patient toil she once more 
joined Cecil for a chat. Flushed and heated, 
she took up her workbasket. 

“While I am waiting on Polly’s movements,” 
she said, “I will put a few stitches in Ralph’s lit- 
tle suit. Oh, dear, there is Flintof’s untouched. 
And so many underclothes to be made!” 

“Employ a seamstress,” suggested Cecil; “you 
are trying to do the work of three women.” 


Comedy of Petty Conflicts 217 

“It is expensive to have sewing done for so 
many, and beside, it is really a pleasure in my 
leisure moments. At night, while waiting for 
hubby to come home, happy thoughts are woven 
into every stitch. As I fashion the little gar- 
ments for our babies, adown the years I can see 
them developed into splendid men, cheering my 
husband’s and my old age.” 

“Unless there is a wonderful reformation in 
the existing state of affairs you will never have 
an 'old age/ ” laughed Cecil. 

“But, while I live,” said Theo, “give me love; 
it makes heaven of earth, it lightens every bur- 
den, it brings peace and gladness into the hard- 
est day; it alters even the tone of a voice. The 
greatest thing in our world, and the incipient 
expression of that nobler, grander, eternal love 
beyond — for heaven is love.” 

Loud altercation outside interrupted further 
speech. Theo threw aside her sewing, and hur- 
ried into the hallway. The children were tug- 
ging and warring over a basket of broken egg- 
shells and dead chickens. 

“Me pull this chickie out of the egg,” cried 
Ralph in great distress, “and the little foot came 
off.” 

“Where did you get them?” asked Theo in 
amazement. 

“Ralph and Flint took them out of Aunt Char- 
lotte’s yard,” explained Pert. 

“We never!” cried the accused, in the same 
breath. 

“Pert tore off boards from the fence, and then 
crawled under and got them,” said Flintof. 


218 Comedy of Petty Conflicts 

“You story !” declared Pert vehemently. 

The mother held up her hands in horror. 
“Aunt Charlotte will never forgive us. What 
shall I do ?” She turned to Cecil, who was view- 
ing the affair from a humorous standpoint, and 
questioned : “How can you laugh at anything so 
distressing ?” 

“Let me run over and sooth the infuriated 
Miss Flintof,” suggested Cecil cheerfully. “I 
will endeavor to show her where the whole affair 
is more a subject for laughter than for groans 
and anger.” And away she went, happy, light- 
hearted Cecil. 

Theo turned to the leader and instigator of 
the mischief. “Get into that chair, Pert,” she 
commanded, as she led him to the corner. “Turn 
your face to the wall until your father comes 
home. He shall punish you severely.” 

“What is I done, ma?” inquired the innocent 
looking chap, as he wriggled himself into the 
chair. “Make Flint sit down, too ; he broke more 
eggs than I did.” 

“I never!” contradicted Flintof. “The poor 
little chicks were shut up in the eggs, an' me 
an’ Ralph only helped them out. Pert is a thief, 
eh, mamma? because he stole Aunt Charlotte’s 
eggs.” 

This was too much for proud-spirited Pert. 
He forgot that he was in custody, leaped from 
his chair, and had a royal skirmish with the in- 
sulting boy. “Take it back!” he shouted, pound- 
ing Flintof, while his mother pounded away on 
him. 

There was a general hubbub before order was 


Comedy of Petty Conflicts 219 

restored, and then, in a melancholy state of 
mind, Theo called the nurse to account for the 
misdemeanor. 

“I draped to sleep on the doo-step," spoke 
Nancy, after a yawn, "an’ de chil'en git 'way 
from me." 

“How dare you sleep when my children are 
in your care, Nancy?" 

“I had to went to de settin' up las' night — my 
great-gran'ma dead, an' my head hot me." 

“Well, don't you ever dare to frolic all night 
again while you are in my employment!" com- 
manded her unsympathetic mistress, in a voice 
of anger. 

With a sullen look Nancy mumbled some 
vague excuse: “Fambly dead, an' my gran’ma 
lef' mud’less!" She then pulled at her stocking 
and in a languid manner w r alked out with the 
debris of Miss Flintof’s poultry yard. From 
the doorway she rolled her eyes and questioned, 
“Mus' I car' 'em back?" 

“Do w r hat?" questioned her mistress, on the 
verge of tears. 

“I ax you if I mus' tote ’em back to de ol' 
'ooman, Miss Flint'; kase de basket b'longs to 
she." 

“Leave my presence!" said the distracted lit- 
tle woman, with a deprecating gesture; and then 
she betook herself to the kitchen, where equally 
trying circumstances awaited her. 

After witnessing tw r o w r eeks of this — Theo's 
daily routine — Cecil's tender heart could endure 
it no longer; so she returned to the peacefu) 
shades of Campville. “No lovesick nonsense," 


220 


Comedy of Petty Conflicts 


she told herself, “shall ever change my content- 
ment into anxiety. I will preserve my identity, 
and develop the potential power within me, 
which the Almighty intends every woman should 
use, except those masses of flesh and blood, with 
sentimental yearnings and clinging tendencies. 
These He has created for human incubators, to 
people the world.” 


Comedy of Petty Conflicts 221 


CHAPTER XXX. 

A FIERY TRIAL. 

An annual celebration of the “R. G/s” proved 
an eventful, almost tragic occasion in Wendell’s 
career. The affair was brilliant, the decora- 
tions were works of art, and the banquet was a 
fit offering for monarchs. 

The evening was balmy, and a summer moon 
shed a mellow radiance over land and sea. Theo’s 
pride in her husband strongly tempted her to 
mingle in the festivities, and be near him; but 
sad memories soon banished the desire. The 
carriages rolled by, and she heard the gay voices 
of the devotees of pleasure, as they hurried on- 
ward. She stood on the balcony, and with pro- 
found admiration watched her husband’s match- 
less form, as he walked away from his home 
for more enlivening scenes. The moon’s rays 
rested on her peaceful face as she happily 
dreamed over the hurried caress he had given her 
at parting ; and she was so completely lost in sen- 
timental revery that she was startled by the sud- 
den appearance of Miss Flintof, who, like a grim 
sentinel, stood beside her. 

“Poor Cinderella!” cried the spinster, “poor 
simple creature!” Bitter sarcasm blended with 
pity in her voice. “I knew that you would be 


222 


Comedy of Petty Conflicts 


left at home, so Pve come to sit with you. Are 
the noisy children in bed?” 

“I am glad to see you, Aunt Charlotte. Yes, 
the little ones are asleep, and the nurse is watch- 
ing over them. I came down with Rupert. Oh, 
you should have seen him ! He is superbly hand- 
some in his new uniform — a perfect king !” 

‘‘I waited until he was gone on purpose to 
avoid the sight,” rejoined Miss Flintof, with 
asperity. “King! Humph! King of asses! Frivo- 
lous scamp, he would better be upstairs with his 
unruly children, or here with his neglected wife.” 

Theo had long since become accustomed to 
these blunt and scathing speeches, so with her 
usual amiability, she smiled and continued : “I 
should like to go around to the armory for a 
moment, and through the low windows of the 
dance hall see the festivities. Go with me, will 
you?” In a pretty and winsome way she 
caressed the frozen woman. 

“Oh, nonsense,” began Miss Flintof. 

“Oh, please!” entreated Theo. “I want one 
more glimpse at hubby. My eyes just ache to see 
him there, a prince among men.” 

“Better sights to be seen elsewhere,” advised 
the spinster. “To go for a quiet walk would 
give you more satisfaction than slipping up on 
that cur when he is turned loose among women. 
I’ll wager that at this minute he has forgotten 
that he has a family at home. You’d better not 
hunt for trouble, girl.” 

A look of fear crept into the sweet blue eyes, 
for the hint was maddening. 

“No, indeed, Aunt Charlotte; it is not to spy 


Comedy of Petty Conflicts 223 

on my husband's actions that I go, but to feast 
my eyes.” 

“For heaven's sake hush, and I will go any- 
where you say,” snapped Miss Flintof. 

“Very good,” laughed Theo, “I’ll get my wrap, 
and we’ll go to the ball.” She ran quickly up 
the stairs, cautioned the nurse about the children, 
and hastily threw a lace scarf over her fair hair. 
In high spirits she tripped along beside her rigid 
chaperon, and together they entered an open 
gateway that led to the extreme end of the hall. 
Through the rear window their view was per- 
fect. In this recessed part of the building mam- 
moth palms formed a canopy overhead, and the 
spot was secluded and inviting. In almost hid- 
den nooks were nestled cosy tete-a-tetes ; and 
here the music of a dreamy waltz mingled with 
the splash of an unseen fountain, lulling the 
senses to a pleasurable passiveness not conducive 
to prudence. Inspired by the first exhilarating 
effects of champagne, light-hearted courtiers 
whispered soft flatteries into the willing ears of 
impressionable women, who, forgetting all else, 
gave themselves unreservedly to the joys of the 
evening. 

Theo stood in smiling eagerness outside of the 
window, and strained her eyes to catch a glimpse 
of her beloved. “Oh, to be there with hubby!” 
sighed Theo. “Old memories would awaken, 
and we would hear again the chime of wedding 
bells.” 

Soon the young wife with a startled move- 
ment stepped back into the shadow of the trees. 
She saw her husband, to the rhythm of the music 


224 Comedy of Petty Conflicts 

guiding his partner from among the dancers. 
Gracefully, and as if by accident, they waltzed 
into the recess, where they were hidden from the 
view of the ballroom. Slowly they glided among 
the scattered palms. Theo saw in her husband's 
arms the willowy form of Marcella Frugatza. 
He held the woman close to his breast, as * he 
gazed into her dusky, bewitching eyes. He whis- 
pered to her, while she smilingly and deliberate- 
ly held her ripe lips alarmingly near to his 
silky mustache. She was dangerously fascinat- 
ing, and her starry eyes lured him on. So it 
seemed to his anxious wife, whose heart gave 
an awful bound, while her look of joyous antici- 
pation turned to one of horrible fear. Jealousy 
fastened its iron fetters upon Theo ; her trusting 
heart was flooded with dark suspicion, her stain- 
less soul was poisoned with its deadly venom. 

Wendell bent his head, and lightly kissed the 
bare and shapely neck so near his lips. Madam 
Frugatza's face flushed crimson. “With passion 
for my husband !” was Theo's smothered excla- 
mation, as the heartless Miss Flintof sidled up 
to her and whispered: “Have you got enough, 
Theo?” But the question fell on deaf ears. A 
mighty pain stifled Theo's speech, as spellbound 
she watched the guilty pair clinging together in 
what to her seemed an interminable caress. She 
saw her heart's idol, in whom her confidence had 
been supreme, nestle his handsome face down to 
that of her rival, as they paused under a giant 
palm. Then with the daring grace which dis- 
tinguished Wendell, his lips met those of the 


Comedy of Petty Conflicts 225 

Frugatza, and, like a king bee, he sipped the 
honey from them. 

Pie was only a man, strongly tempted, and did 
not regard his action as a criminal offense. That 
woman was created for man's pleasure he reli- 
giously believed. Furthermore, a man dislikes 
to appear “slow" in the eyes of the woman who 
induces him. 

For Theo the ordeal was fiery. She forgot the 
presence of Miss Flintof, and wildly fled the 
scene. 

Standing up against a tall tree, Miss Flintof 
was so paralyzed with indignation that she 
seemed a part of the ridged trunk. Her rugged 
features were set, and her cat-like eyes gleamed 
with a thirst for vengeance upon the disloyal 
man. To bring him before the world as an ex- 
ample of modern husbands, to reveal his profli- 
gate character, and to point the finger of scorn 
at him was her burning desire. “The crisis is at 
hand!" she said to the evil spirit within her. 


226 


Comedy of Petty Conflicts 


CHAPTER XXXI. 

WAS LOVE VANQUISHED? 

Cecil sat alone in her pleasant apartment, the 
dainty tea table spread before her. She wore a 
simple and becoming gown of delicate pink. Her 
fluffy hair was thrown back from her brow ; her 
eyes were thoughtful and earnest, and a soft 
flush was on her rounded cheeks. When alone 
in her little haven of rest, with her books, flow- 
ers, birds and music her manner was caressingly 
tender. 

The afternoon was well advanced. The warm 
rays of the August sunset glinted through the 
lofty pines and aspens, which cast their length- 
ening shadows over the peaceful landscape, while 
their low, tremulous whispering mingled with 
other sweet sounds of nature. 

Cecil’s thoughts were disturbed by a noisy 
shake of the doorknob, and suddenly the red 
head and astonished face of Betty Robbins, the 
landlady, were thrust into the doorway. In a 
joyful voice she exclaimed, “A man! Thar’s a 
man for you, Miss Cecil, an’ a pow’ful good 
looking one he is, to be sho’ !” 

Cecil doubted the lady’s judgment in such mat- 
ters, and fully expected to see a book agent, or 
a piano tuner. “Send him around to the front 


Comedy of Petty Conflicts 227 

door,” she said, as leisurely she arose from the 
table, crossed the room and opened the door. 
She drew a quick breath, and a deathly pallor 
overspread her face, as she caught at a chair for 
support. Near the threshold stood Douglas Bar- 
rymore in the flesh, as handsome as a Greek 
god. 

“Alive!” cried Cecil rapturously, all the color 
surging back over her brow, cheeks and neck, 
as she extended both hands. But quickly her 
proud dignity came to the rescue. She gave him 
a cordial welcome, and soon they were chatting 
in the old familiar way. Barrymore accepted her 
hospitality graciously, and partook of the lus- 
cious fruit, shortcake and tea which were tempt- 
ingly served by Cecil's fair hands. There is noth- 
ing so vivifying as hope, and her frank manifes- 
tation of delight filled him with animated happi- 
ness. 

“What a gem of a home nest you have here, 
Miss Dupree !” he said. “I did not expect to find 
anything so charming in these wilds. This room 
seems to be the abode of all that is loveliest in 
nature.” 

“Oh, thanks. But tell me of the Alpine acci- 
dent, and how you escaped, or I shall believe my- 
self in the presence of a glacial ghost.” Cecil 
laughed, while a pink wave swept over her ani- 
mated face. Barrymore gave a brief account of 
his experience in the disaster. 

“When the ice bridge — just at the turn of a 
cliff — gave way,” he said, “two of us were cut 
off from the party; and at that time we didn't 
know how many perished in the fall, for in the 


228 Comedy of Petty Conflicts 

howling wind and blinding snow our voices were 
unheard. Without a guide we could not proceed 
a step. My companion in distress became de- 
moralized by the horror of the situation, and I 
had to force him to make an effort for his life. 
Providence smiled upon us, however, for soon 
the storm ceased, and before midnight we were 
overtaken by an ascending party, which we, of 
course, joined, for we had no guide to pilot us 
back to Chamouni. I was very miserable, for I 
feared that Reed was among those who went 
with the ice bridge.” 

‘‘I presume that you had no thought of your 
anxious friends in Chamouni ?” said Cecil with 
averted eyes. 

There was a moment's silence, and then she 
found Barrymore beside her. They stood near 
an open window, which was screened by flow- 
ers. 

“Well?” she questioned. 

“Shall I proceed with my story?” 

“If you like, sir.” 

“Four days later, when we reached Chamouni, 
there was no trace of my anxious friends, though 
I was rejoiced to learn of Reed's safety, and 
wired him immediately. But just then, Miss Du- 
pree, I did not think that you cared to know of 
my whereabouts.” 

“How unkind,” interrupted Cecil. 

“So I concluded to let the matter stand, and 
to drop out of your life,” he continued; “but oh, 
my Alpine flower, it has been like resisting an 
electrical current. So I have given way to its 
mighty power. It is madness to fight against 


Comedy of Petty Conflicts 229 

the decrees of Fate, and have to go under at 
last.” Strong emotion almost unmanned him, 
and Cecil also became agitated. 

“Five years have dragged by with leaden skies 
and dreary days while my heart hungered for 
you, Eidelweiss. You have made a vacuum there 
which you alone can fill. Resist love’s pleading 
no longer, light of my life.” 

The last rays of the setting sun caressed the 
tendrils of the white and purple heliotrope that 
festooned the windows, while the soft wind 
wafted their delicate perfume into the room. Ce- 
cil’s face went pale. Her lips trembled, and 
then a sparkle came into her eyes and color to 
her cheeks as she turned a glorified look of hap- 
piness full upon Barrymore. The young man 
came close to her, and bent over her. 

“I thank heaven that you live,” said Cecil, and 
her voice trembled with intensity. “It gives me 
joy to know that you escaped that awful doom.” 
Then her words sank to a whispered sigh. “I — • 
love — you, Douglas, but love is all that ever can 
exist between us; any closer alliance would rob 
us of its wonderful charm, its idealism. Kiss 
my forehead, Douglas, and leave me forever.” 

Then strong, independent Cecil gradually 
yielded herself to her lover’s magnetic caresses. 
Though her words caused his hopes and heart to 
sink to an abyss of despair, he had never lived 
until that moment. He folded her closely in his 
arms, kissed her brow, her cheeks, her lips. Ce- 
cil, with a sob of rapture, sank upon his breast, 
forgetting that “lovers and idiots were synony- 
mous words.” In love’s delirium an hour winged 


230 Comedy of Petty Conflicts 

its rapid flight. And when the gloaming had 
waned into night’s darker shades and Cecil was 
alone she paced the floor, in her blissful revery 
almost treading on air. Presently she lit a lamp, 
and surveyed herself before the mirror. There 
*$he saw that her pompadour, in love’s gymnas- 
tics, had suffered a disorderly tumble. She felt 
for her combs — they were missing. Then her 
hands strayed to the back of her belt. Her skirt 
had slipped away and hung one-sided. Her own 
reflection plainly said to her, “What a fool you 
have made of yourself!” and brought her back 
to things of earth. She condemned her weak- 
ness, deplored her folly, then rallied her failing 
strength of purpose, and it stormed in upon her 
and gained the mastery. 

The next day she wrote a spunky and forceful 
letter to Barrymore, in which “never again” was 
the theme. His reply was prompt, clever and 
concise : 

“ ‘Never again,’ ” he wrote, “shall weakness 
bar Douglas Barrymore from long lost and fairly 
won happiness; for when you, with your feeble 
pen, tried to lock me outside, the gates of Para- 
dise had already enclosed me within their ely- 
sian fields, where hand in hand with my Alpine 
flower I will dwell forever more.” 


Comedy of Petty Conflicts 231 


CHAPTER XXXII. 

THE CRISIS. 

As the pleasures of the evening grew more 
hearty, Wendell divided his attentions impartially 
between wall flower and belle. He was conscious 
of no infidelity to his wife, whom, if he thought 
of her at all, he believed to be at home, con- 
tented with her children. 

In the meantime Theo was completely beside 
herself with jealousy, and planned self-destruc- 
tion as the only panacea for the tumultuous 
throbbing of her wretched heart. The moonlight 
seemed turned to blood, and the stars a meteoric 
shower around her; and in her frenzy she fled 
away from the scene of her undoing — she knew 
not whither. But unconsciously she bent her 
footsteps toward the river, where, she senti- 
mentally told herself, the faithless Rupert would 
find her dead body floating in the morning. “But 
what of my rival ?” she asked her angry heart. 
“Will he marry her, and will she have the con- 
trol of my children ?” Involuntarily her feet 
slackened their pace, and she experienced a vio- 
lent revulsion of feeling. 

Four hours had elapsed since the beginning 
of the evening’s festivities. The last waltz was 
beginning. Wendell once more sought Madam 


Comedy of Petty Conflicts 

Frugatza, and again the two drifted toward the 
picturesque recess. He remembered his reckless 
indiscretion of the earlier part of the evening, 
and felt strong in his cooler judgment. She was 
flushed with her triumphs, for she had made 
many conquests. But, delighted to be with Wen- 
dell, she implored his protection from the atten- 
tions of others. 

“ Young Heathcote is wild with jealousy be- 
cause I favor you, Rupert,” she whispered; '‘I 
think he is watching me now.” 

But the warning was treated lightly, although 
Wendell saw a man‘s form skulking around the 
window. The dance continued. 

Suddenly a figure, tall and slender, with a 
slouch hat and mask, entered the doorway. 
Something flashed forth in his hand. A shriek 
rang through the hall; the music ceased, and a 
panic ensued. The assailant had sprung for 
Madam Frugatza’s throat, but Wendell’s fist 
dealt him a stunning blow, which sent him reel- 
ing and staggering backward down the steps. 

Madam was more vexed than injured. She 
stood aghast, and livid with rage. Her revenge- 
ful Italian blood seemed bubbling in her veins. 
She cared nothing for the wound, although the 
subtle weapon had made an ugly scratch, and 
blood trickled from her neck over her handsome 
bodice. Wendell tried to staunch the flow with 
his silken handkerchief, but she disdainfully 
tossed it away. A physician attempted to ex- 
amine the wound, but she .scoffed at his services. 

“Is the American too cowardly to protect a 
woman from murder?” she cried. “Capture the 


Comedy of Petty Conflicts 233 

would-be assassin! Bring me the heart’s blood 
of the fiend who has dared this ignoble act!” 
she spoke in fierce tones to Wendell, while her 
magnificent eyes flashed blue lights. In her fury 
she towered above those around her. “Go quick- 
ly, before he escapes!” she commanded. 

“Think first of your own welfare, I entreat 
you!” said Wendell in great excitement. “Have 
the wound attended to at once.” 

But the enraged woman jostled him aside, 
seized a stiletto that she wore concealed in her 
bosom, burst headlong through the crowd, and 
sprang through the doorway. Wendell was after 
her in an instant, but she had found the pros- 
trate form of her enemy. Like a panthress she 
was upon him, as he lay in the shadow of the 
somber trees. Tiny lanterns of stars and stripes 
hung in various designs from the arched branch- 
es, shedding a dim light over the still face that 
was turned upward, as in mute appeal for mercy. 
Frugatza raised her weapon on high, and aimed 
her deadly blow; but, with a hand of iron, Wen- 
dell caught her wrist. 

“Are you mad, woman?” he cried; “would 
you be a murderess?” He succeeded in lifting 
her to her feet. “Leave the man to me, and I 
will redress your wrong,” he commanded sternly. 
“Control yourself, madam!” 

But this rebuke only intensified her rage. She 
wrenched her wrist from Wendell’s grip, and 
turned her stiletto against him. She made three 
violent thrusts before he succeeded in forcing the 
weapon from her. He threw it far away, and 
with a masterful hand he partly dragged the fe- 


234 Comedy of Petty Conflicts 

rocious creature back to the hall, where he placed 
her in the care of her friends. Then he went 
back to the shadow of the trees where the mys- 
terious man lay; and, though saturated in his 
own blood, Wendell knelt beside the prostrate 
form. He bent low to scan the features. In the 
fall the hat and mask had been knocked off, and 
his astonished eyes beheld the grim and solemn 
face of Miss Flintof. Disguised in masculine at- 
tire, her personal appearance was not improved. 
In her claw-like fingers she firmly clutched a 
jeweled hatpin. It was twisted and bent in her 
brave dash toward the reformation of the pagan 
world. 

Exclamations from the spectators began, but 
a low “hush! hush!” from Wendell quieted the 
few who had followed him to the spot. 

Brandy was used unsparingly to restore the 
unfortunate spinster, and consciousness soon re- 
turned. A carriage was brought, and when 
Wendell was lifting the avenging angel into it 
she opened her eyes, gave him a wild look of 
recognition, and freeing herself from his touch, 
she fled away into the darkness. 

For two hours Theo sat alone in the dark that 
follows midnight, meditating tragically upon the 
coming encounter with Wendell. 

“I will confront the man I once called hus- 
band with his guilt,” she said in hissing tones, 
as she rehearsed her part. “No longer will I 
indulge in tears and entreaties. IT1 spurn him 
from me, even though I die of grief the next 
moment. IT1 leave him, give the reprobate his 
freedom, but a divorce — never ! For the sake of 


Comedy of Petty Conflicts 235 

my children my name shall never be dragged 
through the mire of a divorce court.” She 
clasped her hands over her aching eyes, and me- 
chanically moved about her bedroom, chilled 
even though the heat of the summer night was 
intense. 

“Will dawn never come?” she moaned. “Oh, 
the bitterness of despair, the agony of a broken 
heart — a trusting, loving, faithful heart, crushed 
by infidelity !” Sob — sob — sob — without a tear. 

The clock struck two. Theo dropped on her 
knees by the open window. The very pulse of 
nature seemed hushed, and all earth was wrapped 
in solemnity. The moon, that had lighted her 
happy, smiling face early in the evening, was ob- 
scured by banks of clouds. The ominous silence 
that preceded a storm brooded over the land. 
The wronged wife raised her face to the frown- 
ing heavens, with a drawn and bitter expression. 
“There is no feeling left me!” she murmured; 
“my heart has turned to stone/ , 

The gate latch clicked, but the sound brought 
no joy to her stricken soul. She crouched lower, 
while an icy shiver swept over her trembling 
frame. Footsteps stole slowly, softly up the 
stairway. Someone entered the bathroom, then 
all was silent. In desperation Theo arose, and 
stood before the window. The lace curtains al- 
most enveloped her in their billowy folds. 

The door opened cautiously, and her timid, 
fainting heart began to thump with the power 
of an engine. Wendell entered the room, clad 
in his dressing gown. 

“Up so late, darling ?” he questioned in sur- 


236 Comedy of Petty Conflicts 


prise. “Why, my little love you should have ” 

“Never again !” interrupted Theo, with avert- 
ed eyes and tragic air, as she waved him back. 
Then she turned haughtily, and fully equipped 
for the fray, she faced the transgressor. 

Wendell’s dressing gown hung open, and re- 
vealed blood drops on his shirt front. His face 
was pallid, and the blood-stained cloths which 
bound his hands silenced his wife’s speech. She 
gasped for breath, and stared hard. 

Stifled love reasserted itself, and softly whis- 
pering, “Hubby all wounded and ghastly! Will 
he die, and his wife despise him? Shall memo- 
ries’ wedding bells be changed to a solemn death 
knell?” Theo’s pulses almost ceased at the mere 
thought; as remorse enveloped her in its rising 
tide. She forgot the man’s sin, and remembered 
only the bitter feeling she had cherished against 
him. The sight of his physical suffering was 
more than she could bear. Pity possessed her 
gentle soul, and pierced her armor of revenge, 
throwing wide the doors of her heart to the 
prodigal, Love. Her husband’s arms encircled 
her form, and stilled its trembling, as in silent 
fealty she clung to him. At his touch an ex- 
pression of tender affection — of forgiveness and 
peace softened her features. With fervor their 
lips met, and the first sound that broke the still- 
ness sealed the pardon. 


THE END. 


Sam S. & Lee Shubert 

direct the following theatres and theatrical 
attractions in America : 


Hippodrome, Lyric, Casino, 
Dalys, Lew Fields, Herald 
Square and Princess Thea- 
tres, New York. 

Garrick Theatre, Chicago. 

Lyric Theatre, Philadelphia. 

Shubert Theatre, Brooklyn. 

Belasco Theatre, Washing- 
ton. 

Belasco Theatre, Pittsburg. 

Shubert Theatre, Newark. 

Shubert Theatre, Utica. 

Grand Opera House, Syra- 
cuse. 

Baker Theatre, Rochester. 

Opera House, Providence. 

Worcester Theatre, Worces- 
ter. 

Hyperion Theatre, New 
Haven. 

Lyceum Theatre, Buffalo. 

Colonial Theatre, Cleveland. 

Rand’s Opera House, Troy. 

Garrick Theatre, St. Louis. 

Sam S. Shubert Theatre, 
Norfolk, Va. 

Shubert Theatre, Columbus. 

Lyric, Cincinnati. 


Mary Anderson Theatre, 
Louisville. 

New Theatre, Richmond, 
Va. 

New Theatre, Lexington, Ky. 

New Theatre, Mobile. 

New Theatre, Atlanta. 

Shubert Theatre, Milwau- 
kee. 

Lyric Theatre, New Orleans. 

New Marlowe Theatre, 
Chattanooga. 

New Theatre, Detroit. 

Grand Opera House, Dav- 
enport, Iowa. 

New Theatre, Toronto." 

New Sothern Theatre, Den- 
ver. 

Sam S. Shubert Theatre, 
Kansas City. 

Majestic Theatre, Los An- 
geles. 

Belasco Theatre, Portland. 

Shubert Theatre, Seattle. 

Majestic Theatre, San Fran- 
cisco. 

E. H. Sothern & Julia Mar- 
lowe in repertoire. 



Margaret Anglin and Henry 
Miller. 

Virginia Harned. 

Mary Mannering in “ Glori- 
ous Betsy.” 

Mme. Alla Nazimova. 

Tho9. W. Ross in “The 
Other Girl.” 

Cecelia Loftus. 

Clara Bloodgood. 

Blanche Ring. 

Alexander Carr. 

Digby Bell. 

“ The Girl Behind the 
Counter.” 

“The Light Eternal.* 

“The Snow Man.” 

Blanche Bates in “ The Girl 
from the Golden West.” 

David Warfield in “The 
Music Master.** 

“ The Rose of the Rancho,’* 
with Rose Starr. 

Harrison Gray Fiske’s 
Attractions. 

Mrs. Fiske in “The New 
York Idea.** 


‘Shore Acres.” 

Louis Mann in “The White 
Hen.” 

“The Road to Yesterday.” 

Henry Woodruff in “ Brown 
of Harvard.” 

“The Secret Orchard,” by 
Channing Pollock. 

De Wolf Hopper in “ Hap- 
py land.” 

Eddie Foy in “ The Orchid.** 

Marguerite Clark, in a new 
opera. 

“The Social Whirl,” with 
Chas. J. Ross. J| 

James T. Powers in “ The 
Blue Moon.” 

Bertha Kalich. 

“Leah Kleschna.” 

“The Man on the Box.” 

Cyril Scott in “ The Prince 
Chap.** 

“ Mrs. Temple’s Telegram.** 

“The Three of Us.’* 


You cannot go wrong in selecting one of 
these play-houses for an evening’s entertain- 
ment in whatever city you may happen to be. 


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what all the advertisers are thinking about. But even these are 
not the extremes reached. There are men who lose over 
$100,000 a year by doing neither one. 


Young men and women who have adn ambition to better their 
business by acquiring a thorough knowledge of advertising, and 
who wish to become proficient in the art of writing advertisments, 
are invited to send me one dollar for a Six MONTHS’ TRIAL 
subscription to Printer’s Ink and such information as they 
may care to ask. Sample copy free. Address 


Printers’ Ink Publishing Co. 


J0 SPRUCE ST., NEW YORK. 


BETWEEN THE LINES 

VIOLA T. MAXIMA 

Cloth, 12mo. Dainty in style, thrilling in contents . $1.00 
This is a story on the always interesting subject of an unfort- 
unate marriage; a story of pique and lost opportunity. 

Broadway Publishing Company, 

835 Broadway, New York* 



BOOKS YOV MVST READ 
SOONER OR LATER 


GREY DAWN REFLECTIONS 

By VIRGINIA BEALE LECKIE 

This clever "Washington girl has come close to 
writing the wittiest and brightest book of epigrams 
that has appeared in this epigram-mad age* A few 
samples : 

A friend lies for— an enemy about — and a wife with — you. 

If your grandfather made it in pigs you have a perfect 
right to look haughty when pork is served. 

A married woman’s troubled look at 3 A. M. is not so much 
due to worrying “ if” as to “ how” he will come home. 

The majority of women lay the first misstep to Cupid ; some 
to the man; but it is a fact, if open to criticism, that curiosity 
and the opportunity are often to blame. 

Printed on grey antique paper* Cover in grey? 
red, green and gold* Marginal decorations in color* 
Frontis medallion portrait of author in red, sepia and 
gold. Post-paid, $1*00. 

What daintier holiday gift for your HIM ©f 

HER? 


BROADWAY PUBLISHING CO. 

835 BROADWAY, NEW YORK 


BOOKS YOV MVST READ 
SOONER OR LATER 


The Instrument Tuned 

By Rosa B. Hitt. 

Attractive Binding, 75 cents: 

Limited Edition in White and Gold, $1.00/1 
( Author’s photo ) 

t An able and interesting work on a comparatively new 
subject — Psycho-physical culture — of whose methods the 
author has made successful application. The book is full 
of common-sense suggestions and is admirably adapted 
to the needs of humanity in general. 

The chapter-captions will give an excellent idea of the 
comprehensive and practical character of the work:. 

Various Therapeutic Agents., 

Influence of Mind. 

Extravagant Emotions^ 

Insomnia. 

Relaxation. 

Harmony the Law of Nature?' 


Order 

All pf the books named id this magazine to be had 
from any newsdealer, or 


BOOKS YOU MUST READ 
SOONER OR LATER 


Marcello 

A Tale of the Revolution 

A 

By Wilubert Davis and Claudia Brannon,; 
l2mo, cloth. Illustrated. 

$1.00. 

A fascinating story of the Revolutionary period, in 
dramatic form, in which the treachery of Benedict 
Arnold and the capture of Major Andre are the climaxesj 
The loves of Andre and Marcelle (herself a spy) lend aj 
very charming touch of romance. 


THe Burton Manor 

A NOVEL. 

By Rev. M. V. Brown. 
i2mo, cloth. $1.50. 

A most thoughtful, able and authoritative work in 
engaging narrative form, dealing with the existing evils 
of the liquor trade. The author has wisely embodied 
his conclusions in charming fiction — or fact? — and thus 
the book will appeal to a public as wide as the continent,, 



BOOKS YOU MVST READ 
SOONER. OR. LATER. 

} Wo Surrender. 

> By John N. Swift and William S. Birge, M.D. 

Cloth, i2mo. Frontispiece. Price, $1.50 

From the moment this story opens in the old 
whaling station of New Bedford, until the climax 
of climaxes is reached in the high seas some- 
where off the coast of Chile, excitement and in- 
terest are in order. It is a tale that allows of 
no laying aside and as incident comes crowding 
upon incident the reader finds himself utterly 
oblivious to everything but the words before 
him. 

Imagine, if you can, the consternation of the 
Chilean commander and his officers of the cruiser 
“Dona Inez” when, on their arrival at the land- 
ing stage, ready to embark after an hour’s shore 
leave, they find the ship, which they had left 
safely swinging at her moorings, completely 
vanished. 

Such a statement is enough to arouse im- 
mediate curiosity and what became of the “Dona” 
and what became of the Chilean commander and 
his officers forms the plot of this most extra- 
ordinary narrative. 

Of course the “Dona” has been skilfully pur- 
loined for felonious purposes, and while she and 
her piratical crew are undergoing all manner of 
marine castastrophe one of the former officers 
is dashing overland to head off if possible dis- 
agreeable contingencies with the Chilean Naval 
Department. His adventures are not less thril- 
ling than those which befall the ship, and the 
clever chapter arrangement keeps the reader’s 
interest ever whetted. 

Broadway Publishing Company, 

835 Broadway, New York. 



BOOKS YOU MUST READ 
SOONER OR LATER 



Llewellyn 


A NOVEL 

By Hadley S. Kimberling. 

Cloth. $1.50. 

'5 Illustrations by S. Klan\ 

Here is a story whose artistic realism will appeal to 
everyone, while its distinction as a serious novel is made 
evident by its clever analysis, sparkling dialogue and 
thrilling and powerful situations. , “Llewellyn ” w ill win 
all hearts by her purity and charm/ 


Satan of the Modern World 

, < ' <jtV 1 

By E. G. Doyen.. 
yzn 10, cloth, handsomely produced. 

$1.50. 

> The^title of this book will arouse curiosityT and its 
brilliant contents will fully reward the wide public which 
it will reach.. 


A _ Missourian’s Honor 

- 'V- 

By W. W. Arnold^ 

eOoth, i2mo. $1.00. 

3 Illustrations. 

1 _ /. 


BOOKS YOU MUST READ 
SOONER OR LATER , 

Reuben: His Book \ 

By Morton H. Pemberton. 

Cloth, Gilt lettering, i2mo. Postpaid, $1.00. 

Portrait in Colors. 

One of the funniest, cleverest, uniquest volumes 
of the day, it has won spontaneous and unani- 
mous approval from reviewers the country over. 

Just hear what a few of them say: 

Champ Clark. — “I haven’t laughed so much 
since I first read Mark Twain’s ‘Roughing It.”' 

Globe-Democrat. — “This little book has the 
merit of brevity, variety and humor. It is safe 
to say that the book will have many readers and 
that it will afford much amusement.” 

St. Louis Republic. — “The book is already 
heading the list of ‘best sellers,’ and deserves to 
go. It is GOOD. It is the sort of thing which 
might move the provincial journalist to say, 
‘Reub, here’s our hand.’ ” 

Jl Scarlet Repentance 

By Archie Bell. 

Cloth, i 2 mo. Price, $1.00. 

One Review: “The history of one night and 
one day’s flaming passion between a beauti- 
ful Italian woman and a handsome youth — 
strangers — who meet upon a Pullman car. 
There comes into the story all the elementary 
passions, hatred, jealousy, desire and — sorrow. 

“It is a story that will appeal to those who 
prefer novels in which red blood is throbbing 
madly. It is not for prudes, nor for parsons, 
nor poseurs. It’s a book for men and women 
who have lived.” — The Club-Fellow. 

Broadway Publishing Company* 

835 Broadway, New York* 



BOOKS YOV MVST READ 
SOONER OR LATER 


Lady Century 

/ ■ "V • / 

By Mrs. A. G. Kintzel.) 

4 Drawings by Hartman.' 

Decorated cover in black, red and gold)* 

$i. 50- 

Critics who have seen the book declare’it superior to 
‘/'Leave Me My Honor,” the success which has recently 
brought Mrs. Kintzel into prominence as ^ ^story-teller 
v who has something to say and can say it^ 

/‘Sparkling from cover to cover.” 7 


NAN & SUE 

Stenographers 

By Harriet C. Cuu.aton^ 

;$i.oo. 

You've no doubt heard of this book ! r It stands all 
alone in the originality of its title and subject, and every- 
one knows how charming a subject “Nan & Sue, Ste- 
nographers,” must be. It is the diary of a typewriting* 
office in New York run by two young and pretty girls, 
who have the most amusing adventures. The book's ap- 
pearance is as original and charming as Nan and Sue 
themselves.. 

Order now and join the procession joa^the autumn, 
loth edition/ 





















library of congress 




00020370534 





